Arista Snape & the Ghosts in the Tower
by Snapegirlkmf
Summary: The conclusion to the Arista & Sev saga! Arista & the SR's visit the Tower of London and are called upon to break a centuries old curse. Filled with all new enemies, revelations, and the final battle for Hogwarts against Voldemort & Lucius! COMPLETE!
1. A Visit to the Tower of London

**A Visit to the Tower of London**

• **this adventure takes place inbetween books 5 and 6 of the Harry Potter series. It is the conclusion of my Severus and Arista series. Note, most events in HBP and DH are disregarded! **

It rained buckets the afternoon that Arista Snape and her friends decided to visit the Tower of London, a place that had long been declared as the most haunted building in England. The castle had since been turned into a museum as well as the storage house for the Crown Jewels of Britain, which included the famed Star of Africa, a 530 carat diamond, the largest diamond in the world. But as it had stood for 900 years, built in 1078 by William the Conqueror, it had acquired a darker history as a prison and a place of execution.

"Tell me again why we're here?" Kit Ambrosius muttered, looking around him at the tourists that hovered about him with utter boredom. "I mean, I've been here at least fifty times as a kid with my family and on class trips in primary school."

"Quit complaining, Ambrosius," Mel ordered, frowning pointedly at the sandy-haired boy, shaking her long curly dark hair out of her face. "We might have visited here loads of times, but Arista never has."

"Oh. Right," Kit sighed, giving Arista an apologetic grin.

Arista, though she was the daughter of Professor Snape, had been born and raised in America until she was thirteen, and she had never really taken the time to see London in all its majesty until this summer. "Sorry I'm boring you, Kit, but I figured today would be a good day to come here, since it was raining, and my dad's away." Professor Snape had gone off for a week on an assignment for their Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, leaving Arista and Trish, his adopted daughter, to their own devices for once. He had made both girls practically swear an Unbreakable Vow that they wouldn't have any wild parties or get into any trouble while he was gone.

Kit looked over at Drake Lockwood, the third member of their little gathering and said slyly, "Hear that, Drake? The professor's taken a short holiday, let's tell the neighborhood and have a party at Arista's."

"Go right ahead, Kit," Drake replied. He had short dark hair and gray eyes. "But then _you _get to explain to him why in blazes his house was destroyed, not me."

"Keep dreaming, Ambrosius," Trish snorted, brushing strands of blond hair out of her brown eyes. "He's probably got some kind of magical detectors hidden around the place that'll alert him if there're more than five of us inside the house and he'll Apparate back here and ground us all for life."

"Ground you two for life, you mean." Kit snickered. "He's not _my_ father."

"Some friend you are, Kit," Arista scowled, and rabbit punched him lightly in the arm.

Kit held up a hand in mock surrender. "It was a joke, okay? You know damn well I'd never risk the professor's temper like that."

"Not to mention the fact that the only friend he's got besides us is his owl," teased Drake, smirking. "Real fun, us and Shadow, huh?"

Kit shot him a dirty look. "You're a real comedian, Lockwood." He glanced about and noted the tour group had moved off down the corridor. "Let's go up to the White Tower. That's where it's said you can see the ghost of Anne Boleyn sometimes."

"Ooo, scary!" Trish said, pretending to shudder in fear. "D'you think she walks around looking for her head?"

"No, all the reports of her ghost say she still has her head when they've seen her." Kit answered.

The others agreed and they made their way up the stairs to the White Tower.

"They say Anne Boleyn was murdered on false charges by Henry VIII," Arista murmured, her dark eyes narrowing slightly at the rain still coming down through the slit in the window. "That there was no real evidence she ever committed adultery with three men, one of whom was her brother George."

"Back then you didn't need evidence to convict somebody of a crime," Mel pointed out. "If you were powerful enough and had the king's ear, you could make up whatever you wanted and have that person arrested. It happened all the time. Henry was growing tired of Anne, since she couldn't give him a son and heir, and he knew she'd never permit him to divorce her the way he did his first queen, Catherine of Aragon. So he trumped up charges of adultery and witchcraft to get rid of her permanently."

"And don't forget he had his eye on Lady Jane Seymour too," Drake reminded. "That was a huge reason to remove Anne from his life."

"Real nice guy," Arista snorted. "Sounds like every girl's dream date," she said sarcastically.

"Poor Anne." Trish said softly. "No wonder she haunts this place, she was betrayed by everyone in the end, even her own family didn't stand behind her, they were all too afraid to go against the king. "

"And she was never really popular with the people, either," Mel spoke up. "They called her witch queen 'cause she had an extra digit on her left hand and had grown up in the French court, which was just swarming with undesirable men. And people with dark hair were regarded as sinister. Glad I wasn't born back then."

"Was she a witch, then?" Arista queried.

"Like us, d'you mean?" answered Tricia. All five of them were young wizards and attended the same school, Hogwarts.

"I don't think so. She'd be in the register as a witch then," Mel replied. "She was just unlucky enough to fall for a man like Henry, who was selfish, conniving, and cruel and who also happened to be king."

"He also executed his fifth wife, Catherine Howard," Kit recalled. "They say her ghost haunts the place too, running up and down the hallway screaming for help."

"Was she accused of adultery too?" Arista asked.

"Yeah. Only in her case, it was true." Drake answered. "The king tortured confessions out of her two lovers before he had them and her killed. She was only eighteen, I think."

By now, the tour guide and her group of eager students had moved off further down the corridor, leaving the five teenagers alone. Suddenly, Mel shivered. "Brrr. It's awfully cold in here all of a sudden." She cast a glance about at her companions.

"Got goosebumps, Seton?" teased Kit.

But Mel wasn't laughing. To her, the temperature in the White Tower had suddenly dropped about twenty degrees, and she could feel the presence of something coming. "Arista, can you sense anything unusual?" she whispered.

Arista lowered her shields a fraction, probing lightly with her empathic senses. In addition to being a magician, she was also an empath, and could feel and project emotions. "There's been a lot of blood spilled here," she murmured, shivering slightly. "Blood and death and darkness." She bit her lip, shivering also. "And sorrow, sorrow so deep and dark you could drown in it."

"An apt comparison, young wizard," whispered a soft voice from out of the air.  
They all jumped about a foot, drawing their wands.

The air before them shimmered, resolving into a semi-solid phantasm of a young woman dressed in a long gown of midnight black with a small cap covering the back of her dark hair. Her face was pointed and not incredibly beautiful, yet she drew the eye. She gave a small smile, her eyes brimming with the sorrow Arista had spoken of.  
"Hello, children. I am Anne Boleyn, who was once queen of this realm, once the beloved wife of King Henry VIII, before certain people poisoned his mind and heart against me. Welcome to the White Tower, the place of my last days."

"Merlin's beard!" Kit gasped, falling back a pace. "You really _do_ exist!"

She laughed softly, a sad sound. "Oh, yes. I am bound to a half-life until the curse set over this place has been lifted."

"A curse? There's a curse here?" repeated Trish.

"A very old one, set in motion by all the deaths and blood spilled here. But recently, the curse has been altered, by the dark wizard called Dirk Wrackspur, who steals a portion of our essences nightly to use in his foul spells. He is a follower of Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, and was given the name the Ghost Master, though he is not so much a master as a thief! He steals but he does not truly command." Anne's lips tightened in distaste. "We of the Tower do not serve him willingly, and we ask your help in freeing us from his influence."

"Us? You want us to help you?" Drake repeated in astonishment. "But we're students, why not ask an adult wizard?"

"Because none of the adult wizards here is a ghostwalker."

"A what? What's a ghostwalker?" Arista asked.

"A wizard that possesses a very rare talent to summon, command, and transform into a ghost." Anne answered. "One who can walk between this world and the spirit realm at will. There has not been one in, oh, over five hundred years, I would say. The last one died at the hands of another dark witch, the ancestor of the one you know as the Dark Lord, Voldemort. He would not be pleased to learn that a ghostwalker has been born anew, he considers himself the authority on death, the arrogant fop!" Anne laughed mockingly. "But even with all his power, he cannot do what a ghostwalker can."

"Forgive me, Lady, but none of us have this talent," Arista began.

Anne looked amused, one eyebrow lifting. "Oh, but you do, child. I am not mistaken in this, Arista Snape. We can always sense the presence of a ghostwalker, even one who is brand new to her powers."

Arista gaped at her. "What are you saying? That _I'm_ a ghostwalker?"

"No. Not you. Your friend over there." And she lifted a finger and pointed straight at Mel.


	2. Ghostwalker

**Ghostwalker**

﻿"_Me_?" Mel choked, her blue eyes wide in utter disbelief. "Oh no. That can't be right.  
I'm just Melinda Sandra Seton, not this bloody commander of spirits or whatever."

"Your ancestor was the last ghostwalker in Britain, child." Anne Boleyn told them  
calmly, with the patience of one who has done nothing but wait for centuries. "The gift is very rare, and often skips generations. Often it sleeps until you are around sixteen or thereabouts, even after your other magical abilities have awakened. I can feel the power stirring in you, Mistress Seton, it is like a breath of fresh air in the darkness surrounding this place."

" I don't believe it!" Mel sputtered, taken aback by the ghost queen's matter-of-fact  
statement. "My parents never mentioned anything like this ability in my family, and we can trace our ancestors back at least three hundred years."

Anne spread her hands. "Much can be lost in the years, and perhaps this was one talent that your family deemed better off suppressed, so you did not attract unwanted attention. Witch hunts used to be very popular back in my day."

"But if I'm what you say, then how come the castle ghosts at Hogwarts didn't know of  
me?" Mel demanded, hugging herself, for the chill radiated by the spectral queen was  
terrible.

"Because your power slept then. Now it has awakened, Mistress Seton, and all the  
ghosts in the Tower know it. I do not lie, child. Not about something this important. Were you not the first to sense my presence? It was you that called to me, I don't appear in broad daylight this way to just anyone." Anne declared haughtily.

Mel looked as though she were about to faint, Arista moved over and grabbed her arm, sending her comforting feelings of reassurance. "I don't believe it!" she repeated dazedly.

Anne huffed exasperatedly. "What's not to believe? Very well, if it's proof you seek,  
then proof you shall have. Call the names of young Edward and Richard Plantagenet. You know them better as the Princes in the Tower. They inhabit the Bloody Tower, which is next to this one, and normally they never leave it, but they will not be able to resist your call, Ghostwalker Seton. Call them here to me now!"

Such was the aura of command and authority Anne Boleyn radiated, that Mel found  
herself obeying the ghost queen's command instantly. "Uh, Edward and Richard, come here!" she called softly.

A few seconds passed. "Uh, I don't think they heard me," Mel began uncertainly.  
"Maybe I should've yelled louder."

"No, we heard you just fine," came a child's high-pitched voice from behind them.

Kit whirled around, knocking his elbow against the wall and swearing. "Bloody hell!  
Next time warn a body, huh?"

The prince's ghost giggled. "Then it would ruin the surprise," he answered, his blue eyes twinkling merrily. He looked to be about ten, dressed in a long nightshirt, barefoot, with golden hair that curled to his shoulders.

"Richard!" his brother shot him a reproving look. Then he bowed to them, clearly on  
his dignity, even though he was dressed identically to his younger brother in a nightshirt as well. "My name is Edward Plantagenet, and this impertinent scamp here is my brother Richard, milady Ghostwalker."

"Uh, you can just call me Mel."

"A nickname? That wouldn't be proper."

"Please, Your Highness. Just Mel is fine. I don't care about proper, honestly."

Edward considered. "'Tis most odd. What name did your parents give you then?"

"Melinda Sandra Seton. But I prefer Mel," Mel insisted stubbornly. "And these are my  
friends. Arista Snape, Trish Greenbough, Drake Lockwood, and Kit Ambrosius."

Edward and Richard bowed to each of them in turn and said it was an honor to make  
their acquaintance. "Much better to meet you than that dried up old stick Wrackspur,"  
Richard added, scowling. "All he ever wants is to borrow some of our energy and he doesn't even ask first!"

"He's an ill-mannered churl, Dickon," Edward said, his eyes flashing angrily. "One who could use a good flogging, in my opinion."

"Aye, Ned, you're right about that," agreed Richard.

"Uh, you really had to come when I called you?" Mel asked, staring down at herself as  
if she'd never seen her own body before.

"We did, milady," Edward answered. "I mean, Mel. When a ghostwalker calls, the  
spirit she summons must answer."

"The compulsion is very strong," Anne explained. "It can be fought, but not for very  
long, and doing so hurts and is quite exhausting. 'Tis better to just give in and obey."

"Wow! It's like you're using an Imperius Curse on them," Kit murmured and winced  
when Trish elbowed him in the ribs. "Ow! What was that for?" Then he caught sight of  
Mel's face, which looked stricken. "Oh. I didn't mean that, not really."

"Then you have to do what I say, even if you don't want to?"

Anne and the two princes nodded solemnly. "Such is the power of a ghostwalker,  
Mistress Seton," Anne answered. "The grave is no bar to your call, and your will supercedes our own for a time. You are both mistress and equal, flesh and spirit, walker of two realms."

"Then if I told you to stand on your head, you'd do it?" queried Mel.

"Even so." Anne answered, then grimaced. "Though I would hope you'd have more  
respect for a former monarch than that, child."

Mel nodded quickly, blushing. "I'd never do that, Your Grace, that'd be stupid." She  
turned to the two princes who were standing quietly next to Drake. "May I ask you  
something? Did your uncle, King Richard III, really have you murdered?"

"No! 'Tis a foul lie!" the younger prince shouted, shaking his head violently. "Uncle  
Richard did nothing of the kind, we were killed by Buckingham!"

"Aye, 'tis the truth. Buckingham himself smothered us in our beds and then buried our bodies in the woods outside the Tower grounds," Edward said softly. "Uncle Richard never knew, he was away in York when it happened. He was a good man, not a monster, he would _never_ stoop to such doings. We were his family, he loved us like his own sons, especially since our cousin died, his son Neddy."

"Then why did he put you in here?" Drake asked curiously.

"To protect us from those lords who would have kidnapped us and used us to start a  
revolt against him," Edward answered promptly. "Or those like Buckingham, who wanted us dead so they could put forth their own claim to the throne."

"Didn't work too well, now did it?" Arista said quietly.

"That wasn't Uncle Richard's fault!" Richard stated hotly. "He trusted Buckingham, and Buckingham betrayed him, the rotten traitor! He was working with Henry Tudor, plotting my uncle's death, and it is their lies that have been told over and over again. But we know the truth, Lady Snape, for we looked into the eyes of our murderer before we died, and it was not our uncle! He was innocent!"

"Some historians now believe that as well, but it's not widely accepted," Mel said  
sadly. "Too bad we could never tell people that it's the truth, they'd never believe us."

"People believe what is easiest," Anne said with a bitter laugh. "As they did when Henry accused me of adultery. Or rather, Thomas Cromwell did, and Henry went along with it. They wanted me out of the way, so he could play with his new mistress, the whey faced Lady Jane Seymour! She was never a fit queen for him, with all of her meek airs and holier-than- thou sermons about Reform! And in the end it was my Elizabeth who became the better ruler, not her puling son Edward!" Then she shook her head abruptly. "Forgive me, I did not mean to go on so, the past is centuries dead, though I swear, sometimes it pricks me sharply like it was yesterday. Damn you, Henry!" She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "He betrayed me in the worst way a man can betray a woman. I pray you never know such, children. Be that as it may, I would ask a boon of you, if I may, Mistress Seton?"

"Of course, Your Majesty." Mel said respectfully.

"I ask that you drive the necromancer Wrackspur from the Tower, for he takes what he  
has no right to, and break the curse we have endured for centuries, allowing us to go on to our reward—the eternal peace of heaven."

"Aye, milady—I mean Mel," Edward pleaded, his face hopeful, as was his brother's.  
"We've been waiting ever so long for you to come here, all of us."

"Who's all of us?" Mel frowned.

"All of us Tower ghosts," Anne explained. "Besides myself and the princes there are Cat Howard, my cousin who was also Henry's wife, Sir Walter Raleigh, the Countess of Salisbury, and Thomas a' Becket, to name a few. There are others as well, for many poor souls have died gruesome deaths here and all of us are bound here after death by the curse."

"But how can the curse be broken?" Arista queried.

"The curse, as it stands now, can only be broken by a ghostwalker who has mastered her power and can challenge the bindings set on us by that miserable Dirk Wrackspur!"

Mel gulped loudly. "Bloody hell, you don't ask much, d'you? You want me to fight a  
blasted dark wizard, one who's been working for You-Know-Who all this time? You'd do better to recruit an Auror, Your Majesty, by my lights. They're the ones who know how to defeat dark wizards like that one, not me."

"They cannot help us, Mistress Seton. Only you can. Only a ghostwalker can challenge he who calls himself the Ghost Master. Your friends can help you if they choose, but in the end it is your talent that shall prove our salvation."

Mel groaned. "Great! Just great! What I always wanted, to be a blasted hero. This could only happen to me. How am I going to learn to control this bloody talent, Queen Anne?"

"We will teach you. It shouldn't take you long, a ghostwalker's talent works almost  
instinctively."

"And a good thing too, for the craven Ghost Master said he'll return in three nights time for more power to feed his master," Edward put in.

"He's _what_?" Mel shrieked. "You expect me to master this ghostwalker thing in three  
bloody _days_? All of you are bleeding cracked! It's impossible." She looked at her friends. "I can't do this, it's worse than trying to cram for one of Snape's Potions finals. We've never gone up against a dark wizard before, and you think we can take one on in three days? That'd take a bloody miracle!"

"I have seen the strength in you, Mistress Seton." Anne said serenely. "It is more than  
a match for Wrackspur."

Arista patted her shoulder comfortingly. "We'll all help you, Mel. You don't have to  
do this alone. I've fought necromancers before, last summer in Washington State. I know a few tricks."

"So do I," Drake added quietly. "And this is only one necromancer, last time there were seven. And with our combination magic, I think we have a good shot."

Mel was shaking her head in dismay. "Crazy . . .all of you . . .the two of you should have been in Gryffindor, the way you go off rescuing people."

Drake stiffened. "Gryffindor doesn't hold the monopoly on courage or sacrifice, Mel.  
There are just as many cowards and bullies there as in Slytherin. Just because we're Sorted into one House doesn't mean we're embodiments of everything it stands for. We're people, not cardboard cutouts. I'm in Slytherin because I have more ambition than my father, and I want to be something other than a country vet, but that doesn't mean I hate Muggles or Muggleborns, or that I'm going to turn traitor and become a dark wizard."

"Drake's right." Arista said. "There're no absolutes when it comes to people.  
Slytherin's got king snakes as well as cobras, and I think the whole system of Houses is archaic and ought to be done away with. It prejudges people and that's not right. In  
America, we say it matters more what you do with your talent than what kind of family you were born into. It's how you live that defines you, not what you were born into. Or Sorted into. Just because I'm in Ravenclaw doesn't make me all-knowing, only that I tend to be smarter than your average wizard. But I could have easily been placed in Hufflepuff, 'cause of my empathy, or Slytherin, because you all know my great ambition is to be the best Healer I can. See, you can't put a person neatly into a category, like a potion. People aren't black or white, but gray, and we're always changing. I believe that we all have the potential to be heroes and cowards, depending on the situation."

"Thanks, Professor, for the lecture," Mel snapped, rolling her eyes. "You also believe  
nothing's impossible with magic, Snape."

"And I was right," Arista challenged. "You can do anything you set your mind to, Seton.  
Believe it."

"Maybe you can, Girl Who Healed. But I ain't you, Arista."

"True. You're the ghostwalker, born to be a link between the living and the dead," Anne interjected. "Mistress Snape is correct, Melinda Seton. If you believe, truly believe in  
yourself, you can accomplish anything. Look at what I became. I was nothing more than a minor baron's daughter, my family had great ambition, but nothing more. We were not a great noble family, like the Howards, my father was regarded as an upstart, but he didn't let that stop him. Nor did I. I believed myself as good as royalty, a fit match for King Henry, and with a great deal of hard work, I made him see this also, and lo and behold, I became queen. I, little more than a commoner, rose to the highest position in the land. Now, if I could do that, a mere woman without magic, what can _you_ do, young magician?"

Mel scowled. "That's all fine and dandy, Your Majesty, but look where being queen got  
you in the end. Wrongfully accused and your head cut off. Who's to say I'll not end up the same way?"

"We do," Trish put in firmly. "Like Arista said, you don't have to do this alone. We  
work best as a team, remember?"

Kit and Drake nodded vigorously. "We won't let the necromancer hurt you, Mel," Kit  
stated chivalrously.

"Not while there's magic in our wands and breath in our bodies," Arista said  
determinedly. "Two together are stronger than one alone," she quoted a Dark Hunter  
maxim.

"And five together is better than anything," Drake added. "If you go into this fight,  
Seton, you won't go alone, that much I can promise you."

Mel blushed and looked at the ground, too overcome to say anything. Then she lifted  
her head and smiled. "All for one, huh? Thanks, guys." She eyed Anne nervously. "You sure you can teach me what I need to know before this Ghost Master guy comes around here again?"

The ghost queen nodded. "I must. To fail would be intolerable. Therefore, I must not  
fail." There was an angry glint in her eye. "Four hundred and sixty-odd years I have haunted this Tower, and I am tired of it. I want to rest, as do all my other spectral companions. I am sick and tired of being used as a-a-what is the word you people use nowadays? A tourist attraction? Yes, not to mention a tool for a necromancer like Wrackspur! I am no man's plaything, I never was while I was alive, and I'll be damned if I'll be one in death! Will you not help us, Mistress Seton? I ask now as one woman to another, not as queen."

It was her humility that finally persuaded Mel that she must help them, even though she was scared to death. "Okay. I'll do it."

Anne and the princes heaved a vast sigh of relief. "You have our eternal gratitude,  
Mistress. Return tomorrow night at eight o'clock and we shall begin your tutelage."

"Eight o'clock?" Kit repeated. "But the Tower's closed to visitors then."

Anne shrugged. "For you, the Tower is always open. Do not worry, Master Kit, we shall  
ensure that you can get into the Tower without a problem."

The princes grinned at each other upon hearing that statement. "Time to give the  
Yeoman another good scare!" Richard said with a wicked smirk.

"This'll be fun!" agreed Edward.

Anne smiled at them tolerantly. "Little wretches! One day you might go too far and  
scare someone to death."

"Nay, Your Grace!" laughed Edward. "That we leave to the Countess of Salisbury!"

"Go to, you imps of Satan!" Anne chuckled. "Go back to your Tower and plan out your  
mischief. I will tell Sir Walter and Cat and Margaret meantime. Until tomorrow night then. Fare you well!"

Then she was gone, vanishing as swiftly as she had come.

The princes bid the SR's goodbye as well and departed, leaving the five friends to stare at each other, wondering what on earth they had gotten themselves into now.

****Please check out my other two short fics while you're waiting for me to update this one--POTIONS PRODIGY is my version of a de-aged Severus fic, i think it's funny and then there's MARIETTA"S CHRISTMAS CAROL, which answers Arista's question at the end of Bronze Dragons--what would happen if Marietta really DID come to Hogwarts? A whole lot of trouble? Read it and find out! thanks! :)**


	3. Gathering Information

**Gathering Information**

﻿The five friends walked back from the Tower to the corner that led to Diagon Alley  
in silence, too shocked by the recent turn of events to speak. It had stopped raining by then, though the sky was still a leaden gray and the streets slick with rain. They tapped on the wall and slipped back into the wizarding side of London. Once they had gone past Ollivanders, Arista turned to Mel and asked if the taller girl would like to spend the night at her house. "You could sleep downstairs on the sofa in the den, no problem."

But Mel shook her head slowly. "Thanks, but I can't. I just . . .need some time to,  
uh, think about this alone, okay? And maybe I can ask the folks too, in a roundabout way, I mean. See if there are any stories about ghostwalkers in my family."

Arista eyed her with concern in her dark eyes. "You sure, Mel?"

"Yeah. I'll call you tomorrow morning on my spellophone. See you!" Then she  
mounted her broom and soared into the sky, heading towards her house, which was right next to Diagon Alley.

Trish, Arista, Kit, and Drake watched her go. "Think she'll be okay?" Kit asked  
worriedly. "She was real shook up by Anne Boleyn and all."

"Can you blame her?" Trish asked, frowning.

"No," Drake said. "Although being a ghostwalker sounds pretty neat."

"As long as you don't have to break curses set by necromancers," Arista reminded  
him. "That's what's got her so worked up, and I don't blame her one bit."

Kit looked at his watch and swore softly. "Aww, hell! I'm gonna be late for dinner  
if I don't hurry, and it's my brother's birthday." He mounted his broom, a Zephyr 2000. "My mum'll have my head if I miss Nigel's celebration. Call me tomorrow, all right?"

"See you, Ambrosius!" Drake waved, as Kit took off. Then he turned to the girls and  
said, "I've got to run too, I promised my dad I'd help him with some of his patients. We've got a pregnant pegasus due to foal soon and a phoenix with a broken wing and a unicorn with a cracked fibula." Drake's dad, Dr. Lockwood, was a Magical Creatures vet.

Arista whistled. "Sounds like you've got a busy night ahead of you, Drake."

Drake shrugged. "Business as usual at the clinic. Dad's always got a lot of patients.  
But the pegasus mare's shy, doesn't like too many people. She lets me stroke her though, and usually snaps at everyone else, she nearly kicked Dr. Irina, my dad's partner, over the fence when she went to examine her the other day. They tend to grow cranky this late in their term. So Dad told me I'm a calming influence on her and he needs me to hold her head and stuff."

"You gonna watch her foal too?" Arista asked, curious.

"If my dad needs me to, then yeah." Drake replied calmly. "I've assisted him with  
births before, but usually only cats and dogs. And they're a lot different from pegasi."

"And you're not, uh, freaked out or anything, Drake?" Trish asked.

"No, at least not anymore," he laughed. "The first time I ever assisted him with a  
litter of puppies, I nearly threw up, and he yelled at me for being squeamish. After that,  
though, I was all right. The mother does most of the work, we just stand around and watch, mostly."

"Who does the mare belong to?" Arista asked.

"A Miss Berkley. She's a big fan of the pegasus races in America, this foal's sire  
was one of the top racers over there, so we've got to be extra careful with this delivery. This foal's worth about five hundred Galleons, I think."

Trish whistled.

"Yeah, and if I don't get home, I'm gonna be in for it. See you two tomorrow."  
Lockwood said, then he too mounted his broom and flew off.

Arista and Trish flew back to Spinner's End, where they were greeted by Scout, their  
big golden magehound, and Comfrey, Arista's part lavender fairy cat. Arista took Scout out for his afternoon walk while Trish made dinner for them.

Her hand brushed over the blue wardstone her father had set in the porch railing, the  
stone hummed contentedly at her touch. The wardstone had been enchanted by Professor Snape to protect the house and its occupants from anything short of a nuclear bomb, it had been a gift to him from Colin Flynn, who had once been Arista's guardian and teacher when she'd lived in America. Severus had asked him to obtain one since the troubles with Voldemort had resumed, and he was worried about protecting his family.

The wardstone was a standard Dark Hunter protection device, it was a blue  
moonstone, which had incredible magical absorptive properties, and it could hold many types of defensive spells. Snape had layered it with as many protective spells as he could think of, and the only people who could get past an active wardstone were those it had been keyed to, namely Arista, Severus, Trish, and their friends. Anyone else would activate the defensive spells set in the stone, and no dark wizard would be able to set a toe on the Snapes' property, the stone could detect the aura of a Death Eater without any trouble. The stone was the reason he'd not worried overmuch about the two girls being alone in the house, it was an almost foolproof protection.

Arista returned from walking Scout about fifteen minutes later, and by then Trish had  
sandwiches and soup on the table. The two girls ate companionably, and only when the meal was done and the dishes washed did they turn to discussing what they were going to do about fulfilling the request of the Tower ghosts.

"We're going to have to do some research in Dad's library," Arista declared,  
indicating the rows of spellbooks in the bookshelf next to Snape's desk in the alcove. "He's got lots of texts on breaking curses and fighting dark wizards in there."

"Will he mind if we study them?" Trish wondered, biting her lip uneasily. She did  
not feel comfortable touching her guardian's personal items without asking permission first.

Arista shook her head. "No. He said they were there for us to read if we felt like it,  
though I doubt he ever thought we'd use what was in them to help ghosts in the Tower of London."

"He's gonna flip if he ever realizes what we're about to do, Arista." Trish groaned.  
"He made us promise we wouldn't get in trouble."

Arista sighed. "Don't remind me. I hate breaking my promises to him, you know  
that, but this time we haven't got a choice. Mel needs us. She can't do this all alone, no matter what Anne Boleyn thinks. And Drake and I are the only ones who've fought  
necromancers before, so we've got to help her."

"I know, I know. I just wish we could help her without your dad finding out. And  
you know he will eventually, God knows he practically read minds sometimes."

Arista rolled her eyes. "Trish, he's not God."

"So what? I can't lie to him, he'd see right through me in two seconds flat."

"Neither can I," Arista admitted. "Plus, I know better than to even try. That'll only  
make him madder. Which means we're just gonna have to shut up and take whatever  
punishment he gives us."

Trish sighed resignedly. "There goes the rest of our summer. He's gonna ground us  
for months, I'll bet." Then she brightened slightly. "But at least he won't beat us, which is what my mum would've done if she caught me sneaking out to help my friend." Trish's mother had kicked her out of the house last summer when her daughter refused to be turned into a mini model of Glinda Greenbough, resulting in her moving into the Snapes' house.

"Got that right, Trish. He'll scold us into the next century, no doubt, but he won't  
lay a finger on us, thank God. Besides, I think he almost expects us to get into trouble, it seems inevitable, given who and what we are."

"Insane teenage wizards with a knack for finding trouble wherever we go," Trish  
admitted with a rueful grin. Then she smacked a hand to her forehead. "Merlin, I'm so  
stupid! How are we gonna help Mel when we can't use magic outside of school? The Trace will give us away."

Arista cocked an eyebrow in puzzlement. "The Trace? What's that?"

"It's, uh, you know, the way the Ministry keeps tabs on all of us underage wizards,"  
Trish replied. "So they make sure you don't do magic outside of school."

Arista's eyes narrowed. "Keep track of us how? By a spell?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"So you're saying we're bugged or something?" Arista demanded angrily. "That the  
Ministry's tagged us like some kind of exotic pets? Real nice! What do they think we are, criminals?"

"It's supposed to be for our own protection," Trish began. "So we don't accidentally  
reveal the fact we can do magic to Muggles."

Her friend snorted. "Sounds like Big Brother if you ask me."

"It sounds like who?"

"Big Brother. You know, like in _1984_, the book by George Orwell?"

"Sorry, I never heard of that one. Is it a Muggle book?"

"Yeah, it is. It was required reading when I was eighth grade," Arista explained. "In  
the book, society is regulated and controlled by a strict government called Big Brother. The government propaganda states that Big Brother's a friend, but it's a lie, and it turns out that the government is actually oppressing people by taking away their free will. This Trace thing sounds like that. Who puts it on you anyhow?"

"I don't know. I just know that once you start school, the Underage Wizardry Rule  
goes into effect and the Trace is activated. It doesn't come off until you're seventeen and a legal adult."

Arista frowned sharply, gazing down at her hands as if expecting to see something  
odd there. "Can it be dispelled?"

"Not that I know of."

"I don't like it. I'm not a dog, to be blindly obedient and led about on a leash. What  
happens if you break that rule?"

"Uh, you could get a citation from the Ministry. If you do it too many times, they can  
expel you from Hogwarts."

"What about extenuating circumstances? Like self-defense?"

"I don't know, Arista. I've never really studied much about Magical Law. I guess  
they could make an exception if they wanted to."

"It's insane. What gives them the right to control people like that? That kind of thing  
would never be tolerated in America. It'd be declared unconstitutional, a violation of  
personal privacy."

"You don't have the Trace in America?"

"Nope. When you apprentice with a master, you sign Articles of Apprenticeship  
stating your willingness to be taught and obey your teacher as necessary, and make a promise to never perform magic around Muggles unless there's no other choice, but we're not forbidden to use magic. And we certainly don't have some tracking spell implanted on us to monitor every move we make."

Trish looked thoughtful. "When you fought those dragonslayers last summer, did  
you use your wand at all?"

"Sure I did. And so did Drake, we had to, we were fighting a damn dark wizard to  
the death."

"And you never got a letter from the Ministry saying you'd been caught working  
magic illegally?"

Arista shook her head. "No. Why?"

"Well, it could mean that the Trace doesn't work if one is far away, like across an  
ocean. Or it could mean you never had one put on you since you arrived at Hogwarts  
unexpectedly and Dumbledore let you attend as a fourth year. Maybe the Ministry didn't have time to cast one on you."

"I sure as hell hope so," Arista said irritably. "I'd hate to think I've been roaming  
around with some kind of secret ID tag on me with some wizard watching my every move. That's just plain wrong. Not to mention creepy." Then she paused to consider something. "Wait a minute. We've both used magic before during the summer at home. How come the Ministry didn't pick up on it then?"

"That's different. In a house with at least one wizarding parent, they can't  
differentiate between spells. So you can get away with it if you're careful. I think then the Ministry depends on the parents to make sure their kids aren't using magic illegally or anything."

"Oh, good. Then we can still cast spells here and no one will know."

"True, especially since nobody at the Ministry knows Severus has gone away," Trish  
said, then added softly, "But that still doesn't solve our problem about the Tower. We _can't _use magic there, it's a Muggle facility, and they'd be on to us like a shot."

"That Ghost Master creep's been using magic there, though."

"Yeah, but he's an adult, and can't be traced."

"Hmm. I wonder if the Ministry can trace talents, like my Healing ability or Mel's  
ghostwalking?" Arista wondered, biting her lip thoughtfully. Comfrey came up and curled on her lap, purring, and she stroked the soft gray cat, feeling the tension leave her as she did so. Comfrey was like that, her purr could soothe a raging three-headed dog. "When I healed the Longbottoms two summers ago, I used empathy and my Healing talent and I never got any citation from the Ministry."

"Then maybe they can only detect spells we do with wands," Tricia surmised.

"That's a relief. I mean, imagine, I'm trying to save someone life, and they go and  
expel me for it. Real smart, huh? At least in America, you only get in trouble if you use dark magic."

"Too bad we don't live there," Trish said wistfully. "It's a pain, not being able to use  
magic outside of school."

"Mmm-hmm. Liberty and justice for all, that's the American way." Arista sighed.  
"Well, if we can't use wands, there's always potions. And we all know how to do kung fu, right? So we're not just sitting ducks."

"No, but . . .what kinds of potions can we use to protect ourselves from a dark  
wizard?"

"Let's take a look in Dad's library and find out," Arista suggested, then knelt down  
to examine the rows of spellbooks.

Snape, with his typical obsessive compulsive neatness, had arranged the books  
alphabetically by subject and then author. Arista skimmed the sections on magical creatures, healing drafts, and sleeping drafts, coming to the section on protective elixirs and defensive magics. She leaned forward and read carefully through the section, there were many texts and grimoires here, since her father had a vaunted interest in this subject. But after fifteen minutes, she found one that might be just what they needed.

"Look at this, Trish! _Elixirs for Protection and Defense, Revised Edition_ compiled  
by Horace A. Slughorn and Severus Snape." Her mouth dropped open. "Blazes! I never knew Dad published anything."

"Me neither," Trish sounded impressed. "Who's Horace Slughorn?"

"He used to teach Potions at Hogwarts too. He was Dad's old professor," Arista  
answered. "Dad said he had him for NEWT Potions in sixth and seventh year, but he's retired now. I wonder when he worked on this with Slughorn?" She slipped the volume out of the bookcase and opened it to the flyleaf. "Hmm. First published, April 1992, the year before I came to live with him. It's still pretty current then." The book was a thick leather bound volume with a picture of a cauldron and a bottle shimmering with some kind of blue potion inside it stamped on the cover just below the title. Arista rose and carried the book carefully to the desk and sat down, placing it gently on top of Snape's walnut rolltop.

He'd tidied up the desktop before he had left, so the only things on it were a small  
stack of blank parchment, some spare quills in an old-fashioned glass potions bottle, and a bottle of Fine Black Squid Ink. All of the other small compartments on the desk and the drawers had been spelled with locking charms, so Arista knew better than to even try and open them. The only one she knew the password for was the tiny hidden drawer on the left hand side, which contained the key to the Snape vault at Gringotts. But Severus had left a bag of money for emergency use just before he'd left for parts unknown, saying he'd be back within a week, and not to use the gold unless they were desperate. The house was well stocked with food and other essentials, so Arista did not anticipate needing the gold at all.

_Until now, that is. I sure hope these potions don't require some expensive  
ingredients to concoct, and that Dad has them all in his lab, so we don't have to go to the Apothecary and buy them. I don't want anyone knowing what we're doing, and Mr. Ashby the apothecary will be sure to ask what we're making that requires exotic ingredients. _Arista crossed her fingers and bent her head to scan the table of contents. She tried  
to imagine what kinds of spells the Wrackspur man might use against them and then she flipped to the corresponding page with a potion to counteract the spell. She'd located the elixir for a Fireproof potion, one that would make the drinker immune to any kind of fire, even dragonfire, for three hours or so.

She snagged a piece of parchment and jotted down the recipe, noting with a wry grin  
that Severus had appended the ingredients at the bottom of the page in his precise  
handwriting with the following instructions—_may use chimera or manticore blood as a substitute for dragon's blood if brewing potion in America, as per the AMA Regulations._ Otherwise, the recipe was pretty straightforward and didn't seem that difficult to brew.

She discovered a potion that would give one the speed of a serpent for a time and  
wrote that one down too. It was called Snakeswift and its main ingredient was the skin of an African black mamba, the quickest snake on the planet. _That too might be really useful, especially if he starts casting something nasty at us, _Arista mused. _Can't hit what you can't see. _  
She found an improved version of an Excelsior Draft, which was like the charm of  
the same name, and would protect the wizard from severe physical damage.

Then she came across a section titled _Spirits, Ghosts, and Ghouls—Dealing with the  
Undead and the Cursed. _She excitedly read the following paragraph aloud to Trish.

"Though most people tend to regard ghosts as harmless, merely an imprint of a  
person who has died and refused to move on, there remain more than a few instances where specters have driven people mad or scared them to death. Those spirits are not merely imprints, but are in a class I like to name _revenants_—angry, disturbed, and hostile souls who hunger for things they lost in life or never had to begin with. A revenant is usually a soul cursed to remain trapped in a half-life, bound to a specific place or location, doomed to either relive or protect something by the wizard that bound it, until they have learned the error of their ways or the treasure they were protecting no longer exists. Most revenants bear a deep abiding hatred for the living, and take great pleasure in attacking unsuspecting  
travelers whenever they can. They usually are capable of emitting a freezing aura, one that can literally chill the blood in one's veins, or can scream so piercingly that the hearer goes deaf, like a banshee, or cast a cloak of fear that can stop an unprotected person's heart. Some revenants can also drain energy from the living by touching them and it is in this way that they gain strength, sustaining their unnatural lives. Such spirits are notoriously difficult to banish or destroy, and rare is the wizard who can compel one to do his bidding. The one exception to this rule is a wizard who is a ghostwalker, a rare talent that enables the wizard (or witch) to command and summon ghosts, as well as take on phantom form at will. No revenant, not even the most strong-willed or evil, can resist the summons of a ghostwalker, nor fail to obey one's commands, for the power of the ghostwalker is absolute, as befits one who can bridge both the physical and spiritual realms."

Trish whistled. "Boy, am I sure glad Mel's on our side. Does it say anything else  
on how you can destroy or fight one of those revenant things?"

"Let's see." Arista quickly read the rest of the page. "Ah ha! Here we go. A  
revenant can be turned aside or banished by a wizard if he has the following items, spells, or potions on hand: A cross or other holy relic blessed by a priest or other religious personage. But the holy item usually only serves to bring the revenant to a halt, and might not destroy it outright. Holy water is best in this case, because of their accursed nature, a revenant can't bear the touch of blessed water, and can be severely burned or harmed by it. One can coat a weapon or an object with holy water prior to facing a revenant to ensure maximum damage when confronting one.

"Silver items, such as daggers, sword, or staffs capped with silver will also hurt a  
revenant, since silver is a pure metal and has properties which wards off evil. The best offensive weapon against a revenant is one that combines both silver and holy water.

"Revenants also dislike bright light, so a Lumos spell can be handy, or an  
Illuminating Paste, which can be spread on the person's hands or arms, to make them glow with a bright unyielding light for twenty minutes or so.

"Other potions can be effective in reducing the auras a revenant emits, such as a  
Fearless Potion, which will render the drinker immune to a revenant's fearcasting. A  
Euphoria Potion is also good for combating the despair and hopelessness a revenant can throw at an opponent, for those who are joyful cannot feel despair. To fight off the chill of the grave, I would suggest a Chill Banishing Draft or a double-strength Pepper Up Potion.

"Another way to defeat a vengeful spirit is to cast a spell called Spirit Wrack, which  
is a high level spell that makes the spirit feel terrible emotional pain, and when cast  
properly, can make a revenant back off or flee. Though it can be fought, if the spirit is old and has experience in enduring emotional mindstorms, and the victim of failed Spirit Wrack will be very angry and not likely to be merciful to the wizard who cast it afterwards.

"Prayer is also a way to keep a revenant at bay and in a few cases, if the wizard's  
faith is strong enough, banish the revenant for a time. But such strong faith is rare, and simply speaking the words of a prayer are not enough—the wizard must truly _believe _the prayer and have faith in whatever god he prays to irrevocably, else the prayer will fail. Faith is only as strong as the person's belief, though belief equals power, in magic as in everything else. A prayer circle, drawn with silver sand and salt, is a good way to keep a revenant from harming people, or bind it safely.

"So if you plan on going ghost hunting, or are seeking a treasure guarded by a  
revenant, bring along a priest at the very least, arm yourself with holy water and a few  
potions mentioned here, or find a ghostwalker if you can, though that last might prove  
difficult, since not many are born with the talent. Of course, there are no guarantees that using any of these methods will keep you alive, since the only foolproof method to defeating a revenant is to be or be accompanied by a ghostwalker. Essay written by Severus Snape, Potions Master," Arista finished.

"How did your dad find out all those ways to fight revenants?" Trish pondered. "The  
way he writes, he makes it sound as though he's had experience fighting them, not just studying about them."

"You're right. He's probably done lots of things we'd never think of him doing.  
Sometimes I think he's led a whole other secret life besides just teaching Potions at  
Hogwarts. Colin once mentioned to me that Dad knows as much about Defense and battle magic as a Hunter combat master, and you don't get that kind of experience by reading books, that much I can tell you. You get it by dueling necromancers and stuff."

"Then why on earth isn't he teaching Defense?"

"Who knows? That's between him and Dumbledore. Last time I asked about it, he  
nearly bit my head off, told me to quit sticking my nose in things that were none of my  
concern before I got into serious trouble. I never dared to bring up the subject again. But I've always wondered." The little Healer shrugged. "Maybe one day Dumbledore will give him the position, or maybe he'll tell us where and how he learned all of this."

"D'you think he doesn't talk about it 'cause he doesn't trust us?"

Arista shook her head. "No. I've never got that feeling from him at all. It's  
probably more along the lines that he wants to protect us, you know how overprotective he is when it comes to his family. Worse than a mother grizzly with one surviving cub that's lost the others to hunters." She rolled her eyes.

"At least that's better than not giving a damn about your own kid," Trish said softly,  
her expression darkening. Arista came over and patted her shoulder comfortingly, knowing the other girl was speaking about her parents, who had cared so little for their daughter that they'd allowed her to leave home and go live with a stranger rather than face up to the fact that they were making her miserable and try and resolve the situation. "I always feel safe around him," Trish continued. "Except when he's in a temper and yelling at me. Then I want to go crawl under a table."

"But he hardly ever yells at you, Trish," Arista pointed out with a small smile.  
"You're the good daughter. I'm the one with the attitude, remember?" That was a quote she heard often from Severus during an argument, for she'd inherited the Potions Master's sarcastic tongue and his quicksilver temper.

"I won't be the good daughter after he finds out about this," Trish predicted  
gloomily. "Both of us are going to be on the Worst Daughter of the Year list. He's probably gonna wish he never agreed to make me his foster daughter."

"I doubt it. He might be blazing mad at us for a week or so, but then he'll forgive  
us, same as always. He only carries vendettas against people he really loathes, like  
Voldemort. Or James Potter and Sirius Black."

"Or Harry."

"Well, I don't know about that. Somehow, I don't think he hates Harry as much as  
he seems to." Arista disagreed.

"Why's he always picking on him, then?"

"I think, and this is only a theory, mind, but I think it's his way of testing Harry,  
pushing him. And part of it is because Harry can be rude and disrespectful, all the qualities he hated in James Potter, and he won't tolerate that from anyone, but especially not from James' son. He's using Hunter teaching methods, Trish. A Hunter is always hardest on those students he thinks have the most potential. Colin used to tell me the harder the practice, the better the student." Arista winced. "And he used to tell me that right after he'd stomped my butt into the ground. Sometimes I really hated him, but those methods get results. Damn good results. I wouldn't be half as good as I am at defense if it weren't for Colin's little practice sessions."

Trish shuddered. "I'm glad I was never a Hunter's apprentice. I'd have fallen to  
pieces after a week, I think."

"No you wouldn't have." Arista disagreed. "You're a lot tougher than you think,  
Tricia Greenbough. You survived your mother, right?"

"Barely."

"But you did it. And you survived Dad's temper without bursting into tears last term  
when you nearly failed his final too."

"Only 'cause I was too afraid if I started crying I wouldn't be able to stop and he'd  
hate me for being a sniveling crybaby. And I deserved to be yelled at too, I was letting my relationship with Rowan interfere too much with my schoolwork." Rowan Glendower was a sixth year Ravenclaw and the substitute Seeker for the House team. He was also drop dead gorgeous and he'd made Trish the envy of half the girls at school by going out with her.

"That why you haven't called him at all this summer?"

Trish sighed. "Partly. He's graduating this coming year, you know, moving on to  
other things and I, well, I don't see why he'd want to be with me when he can get another girl who's older and prettier and doesn't have such a screwed up life."

"Because you're worth ten of any of those other women Tricia, and if he can't see  
that then he's an utter idiot and not worth another minute of your time. Did he say he wasn't going to go out with you anymore?"

"No . . .but I kind of got the feeling that he might be . . .well, looking for an excuse  
to dump me. I kept turning him down when he asked me to go out the end of last term, telling him I really had to study, and he got annoyed about it, said maybe he'd rather not spend time with a bookworm, that there was more to life than getting top marks. I, uh, got mad at him then, told him he wasn't worth failing Potions for. And he said I was stupid for caring about what Snape thought, what was he but a grouchy miserable git who carried around a torch for his dead wife 'cause he couldn't get a normal woman."

"He _didn't!_ Why that lousy, arrogant, stuck-up, little twit!" Arista flared. "I hope you  
told him where to shove himself, Trish!"

"I did. We had a blazing row, I told him that Severus had adopted me, and his  
opinion meant more to me than any shallow silly boy's, and that was why we didn't speak to each other for over two weeks. Then, the last week of school, Rowan came and begged my pardon, said he was a horse's arse for behaving the way he did and would I please forgive him? I said I would, and he told me he'd write to me over the summer, and then he left. So far I haven't gotten a letter yet, and I'm beginning to think it's over."

"Well, if it is, I'm sorry, but there're plenty more guys, better ones, that you could  
date, Trish."

Trish laughed. "That's funny coming from you, Arista. Since the only guy you ever  
have eyes for is Drake Lockwood." Arista blushed. "The way you look at him, you'd think he was the last boy on earth."

"For me, he is," she admitted softly.

"What do you mean?"

"Uh . . .it's complicated."

Trish eyed her foster sister in amusement. "How so? You either like him or you  
don't."

"I like him . . .a lot. But it's more than that." She frowned, trying to come up with  
words to explain what had occurred between her and Drake last summer. "You know how we went on that quest last summer to save the bronze dragons?" Trish nodded. "You know how Drake got hurt by that Hellride spell Crouch cast on his broom?"

"Yeah, he said he almost died, but you saved him. What of it? You heal everyone  
who needs it."

"I know, but that time, it was different. You know what resonance is?"

"A little. It's when you absorb the feelings or memories of someone else, right?"

Arista nodded. "Sort of. For an empath, resonance means a bit more. When I healed  
Drake, I thought I was careful not to link too deeply with him, but somehow my healing  
created a—a bond between us. Now I can almost always sense him, even shielded. He's always there in the back of my head. That's never happened before, Trish. Not when I healed the Longbottoms, or Colin or Jenna, or even Fireflash, whom I brought back from the brink of death. Only with Drake."

"Does he know?"

"No! How can I tell him? I think it's a soulbond, Trish, and an empath only  
soulbonds once in her life, when she's found the person she's destined to love for all of time. Like my mom with my dad. They shared a soulbond, I'm almost certain of it. That's why losing my mom nearly destroyed Dad, and it's also why he hasn't so much as looked at another woman since. It's something only an empath can create and once it's done, that's it. A soulbond's forever, even beyond death."

"Holy God! And _that's_ what you think you share with Drake?"

"Yes. I'm not a hundred percent certain, but I'm almost positive. And I don't know  
how to tell him. I don't want him thinking I enspelled him or anything, because it wasn't like that. I never intended for this to happen, but it did, and I couldn't undo it if I wanted to. And I don't. You know I've always liked him as more than a friend, and this just . . .enhances the way I feel about him. By about a million times."

"Arista, you _have_ to tell him!" Trish urged. "I think he likes you too, only he's too  
shy to admit it. I've seen the way he looks at you when he thinks no one can see . . ."

"How does he look at me?"

"Like you were an ice cream cone and he was starving," Trish said impishly.

"_Tricia Greenbough_!"

"What? It's the truth, I swear. And sometimes he looks at you as if you were the only  
girl in school."

"Really?"

"I'd swear on Helga Hufflepuff's cup, if we had it here," Trish said solemnly. "Has  
he ever kissed you?"

"Not yet," Arista said regretfully. "But if he ever did . . .there'd be no way I could  
hide the soulbond then. Affection deepens the bond, you see, and I wouldn't be able to keep from sharing my feelings with him. Or from sensing his own."

"And that scares you?"

"Yeah. I don't want him to ever think I'd use my powers to influence him. But it's  
hard to be completely private with a soulbond. Emotions, yours and his, always leak  
through, and Drake's always been the kind of guy who is quiet and self-contained. What if he doesn't want to bare his soul to me?"

"I think it's a bit late for that now, if what you say happened."

"You're right. I wish my mom were here. She'd know how to tell if it was truly a  
soulbond or not, and how I could tell him about it without seeming like a manipulative  
harpy."

"Arista! Drake would _never _think that about you." Trish objected.

"No? I bonded to him without his consent, Trish."

"Not intentionally. I'm sure once you explain it to him, he'll understand. So don't  
go borrowing trouble, Arista Snape, unless you want to get it back with interest, okay?"

"Okay." She gave Trish a tentative smile.

Trish looked thoughtful for a moment. "Uh, I just had a crazy idea."

"What?"

"Maybe you could talk to Severus."

Arista nearly fell off the couch. "Are you freaking_ nuts_? I could _never _. . .a  
soulbond's too private, even if he would admit he had one with my mom . . . I mean, it's just not something you bring up in a casual conversation—_Gee, Dad, did you ever share a soulbond with Mom and if you did, y'mind telling me what feels like? 'Cause I think I've got one with Drake Lockwood. _No way!"

"But Severus likes Drake."

"Sure he does, as our friend. But my boyfriend? A real boyfriend, not just a casual  
acquaintance? I think he'd be more likely to threaten Drake with dismemberment than welcome him as a son-in-law, you know how overprotective he is."

"I think if he knew how much you loved Drake and that Drake felt the same about  
you, he'd be okay with it. He just doesn't want you to get hurt, is all."

Arista chuckled darkly. "A soulbond hurts like hell sometimes. It ain't all sweetness  
and light."

"Who better to know that than him, Arista? If he shared one with Amelia, he'd  
understand. I think you should talk to him."

"When, before or after he's grounded me for life? That's assuming I can even get  
two words in edgewise before he starts yelling."

"You will, you've always managed it before," Trish said.

"We'll see," Arista said, sounding very much like her father. Then she yawned and  
rubbed her eyes. "Well, I'm ready for bed. We can study those potions recipes and tell Mel, Kit, and Drake about them tomorrow."

"Right," Trish smothered a yawn also. "Night, Arista. Hope you have pleasant  
dreams . . .about darling Drake."

"Shut up, Trish!" her foster sister yelled, throwing a pillow at her.

Trish giggled unrepentantly, then threw one back at her. In two seconds flat they had  
degenerated into a full-scale pillow fight.

Fifteen minutes later both girls were breathless from laughing and feathers were  
drifting down through the air to land in small white heaps on the couch and the rug.

They stared at each other in amused dismay. "Good thing Dad's not here," Arista  
said. "We'd really catch it."

"But it was fun." Trish grinned, then drew out her wand and spoke a neaten-up  
charm, while Arista gestured at the pillows and mended them in a twinkling.

Within minutes the den was its former neat self and the two raced up the stairs to  
their bedroom, tired yet relieved of tension, and assured a good night's sleep because of it.


	4. A Ghostly Tutorial

**A Ghostly Tutorial**

Early the next morning, Trish and Arista went downstairs to Snape's lab in the basement and began to make the potions Arista had copied from the defensive magic spellbook. Luckily, they found all of the ingredients they needed in Severus's stores, and did not need to pay a visit to the apothecary the way Arista had feared. Both girls were skilled in brewing potions, consistently earning top marks in Snape's class, despite his perfectionist ways.

They divided up the list of potions between themselves, each of them making four kinds of potions. Arista took the Fireproof Potion, the Snakeswift, Euphoria Potion, and the Chill Banishing Draft. Trish worked on the Illuminating Paste, the double strength Pepper Up Potion, the Excelsior Potion, and the Fearless Potion.

Severus's lab was large enough for the two of them to work simultaneously on different drafts and not interfere with each other. They worked companionably for over four hours, only pausing to summon some breakfast sandwiches from the freezer, warming them with a quick charm, and devouring them inbetween drafts.

Some of the potions, like the Pepper Up Potion, were not difficult to brew, while others, such as the Fireproof and the Euphoria were quite advanced and called on all of their skills as potion makers. It was then that Snape's insistence on preciseness and discipline really paid off, enabling his two daughters to brew even the most difficult drafts correctly the first time, without wasting any of his precious ingredients.

"Dad would be real proud of you, Trish," complimented Arista after seeing the other girl's perfectly brewed Fearless Potion, which was a soft turquoise color with golden glints in it. "That Fearless Potion's NEWT level, I think. And you got it right the first try, without help."

Trish smiled delightedly. "Don't ask me how I did it, 'cause I was so nervous about screwing it up. I kept hearing Severus's voice in my head, can't you follow simple directions, Miss Greenbough? There's a reason why exact measurements are given in a recipe, now use the brains you were born with and read the text, not go mooning over some silly schoolboy!"

Arista chuckled. "I can just hear him saying that. And giving you one of his famous Snape glares on top of it." She pretended to scowl fiercely at her foster sister.

But all Trish did was laugh at her. "You need to work on that a bit more, Arista. That one barely made me shiver. Severus can stop a row between sworn enemies from ten feet away."

"Yeah, well, he's had fifteen years to practice," Arista reminded her. "He's got it down to an art form." She returned to stirring the Snakeswift Potion, which was a dark green swirled with black. "There! I think this is ready to decant."

She carefully poured the bubbling elixir into several small shatterproof glass bottles using a funnel and a twitch of her finger. Trish watched in envy, wishing she could do magic the way Arista did, without a wand. But Arista's early training had been in the American tradition, which preferred gestures to wands, and thus Arista didn't need her wand for most spells. It was only when casting certain Defense spells that she needed a wand, to focus her power more precisely.

At last all the potions had been made and the cauldrons scoured with a simple disinfecting charm. They were careful to leave the lab exactly as they had found it, for nothing roused the Potion Master's ire quicker than sloppiness in his laboratory. Neatness was a cardinal virtue in his book, a fact which both of them knew quite well. Both of them had been recipients of scoldings for leaving their bedroom a mess more than once.

"We'll have to get some holy water over at St. Paul's," Trish said. "Too bad we don't have some silver weapons lying around."

Arista was placing her cauldron back beside the rack of empty glass bottles right then. Suddenly, an odd flash of light from a shadowy corner of the lab caught her attention. She walked towards it, and discovered it was a black oak staff, shod at both ends with silver. Engraved on one end was a Celtic cross. "Hey, Trish, come see what I've found!" she cried excitedly, lifting the staff from the corner reverently. It was dusty with disuse, but Arista could tell it was perfectly balanced, and carved by a master.

"Wow!" Trish exclaimed. "That looks like exactly the weapon we need to fight those revenant creatures. Wonder where your dad got it?"

The staff was about five feet long, nearly as tall as Arista. "Who knows? But I'll bet he used it for the same purpose we're going to, to fight revenants."

"You think this Ghost Master can call them up like it said in the book?"

"Probably. Anne Boleyn and the two princes aren't the only ghosts in the Tower, only the most well known. Countless others have been executed or killed there, and I'll bet they're still angry about it. If this Ghost Master knows anything about summoning undead, he'll call on them once Mel tries to break the curse. This staff will give us an edge."

She swung it experimentally, it whispered through the air like a leaf on the breeze, perfectly balanced. She grinned in delight, assuming a fighting stance and jabbing and twirling with it, fighting her shadow. Colin had taught her how to handle staves as part of her self-defense training, saying it was a good thing to always be prepared, that not every situation needed to rely on magic as a solution. "Sometimes a good whack with a stick is just as effective as a Stunning Hex, and a whole lot harder to detect."

"Rub this with holy water and I've got a weapon that any revenant, no matter how angry, will run from," Arista said, lowering the staff until the tip rested upon the ground. She silently thanked her father for providing them with exactly what they'd needed.

"Let's call Mel and see what she's up to," suggested Trish.

"Okay. You do that while I call Drake and Kit and tell them to come over and we can discuss what we've learned." Arista said, then pulled out the disk component of her spellophone and opened it.

* * * * * *

Twenty minutes later, all five friends were gathered in the den of the Snape house, munching on chips and salsa and sandwiches while Trish and Arista filled the others in on what they'd learned about ghosts and how to combat them from Snape's library. They proudly displayed their completed potions inside their kits and Arista also showed them the black staff. The boys were particularly impressed by it, and took turns holding it for a bit, though neither of them knew how to wield it properly the way Arista did.

Mel was very interested in the section of Snape's essay that dealt with revenants, and asked Arista if she could read that part aloud again. Arista did, and then Mel said, "Looks like the ghosts and the professor are in agreement about one thing. I'm your secret weapon. Funny, I don't feel any different. I feel the same as always, just plain Mel Seton, who still trips over her own feet sometimes. And yet, I've got Anne Boleyn telling me I'm some powerfully talented witch that can stomp a dark wizard's arse into the dirt." She gave a soft chuckle of disbelief. "I wish I was as certain as she was."

"Maybe you'll feel differently once you practice some more with your power," Arista said wisely. "What did your parents says when you mentioned the existence of a ghostwalker?"

"They got real quiet all of a sudden," Mel told her. "Then my dad gave my mum one of those conspiracy looks—you know the kind parents give when they don't want to discuss something in front of their kids, even if it's important. Then my mum said that the ghostwalker talent was very rare and had been seen in Britain in centuries."

"I asked if she had ever known anybody with that talent and she said no, but she wouldn't look at me directly when she said it, and I could tell she was keeping something from me." Mel sighed. "I guess it's one of those family secrets nobody wants to talk about, like having a batty aunt locked in the attic or something."

"Or maybe they're afraid to talk about it," Kit reasoned. "Because maybe talking about it was dangerous once, like the queen said."

"Kit's right," Drake agreed. "Maybe they're just being cautious. If You-Know-Who ever learned about you, he might try and do something to you—like kidnap you or something. So maybe your parents figure it's safer if they don't discuss anything to do with ghostwalking."

"Hmm. I never thought about it that way before," Mel admitted, chewing her lower lip nervously. "But my helping the ghosts in the Tower is going to get Voldy's attention real fast, don't you think?"

Trish gaped at her. "Voldy?"

Mel grinned. "I get tired of saying You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, y'know? And I don't want to say his real name either, so I gave him a nickname."

"An insulting one," Drake laughed.

"Like, who cares, mate? Far as I'm concerned, Voldy can go and crucify himself," Kit snorted.

"I wish Voldy and all the Death Eaters would drop dead of a nasty and painful disease," Arista said.

They all agreed with the diminutive Healer's words.

"And while we're wishing, I wish the Ghost Master would contract the same disease so I didn't have to fight him," Mel added wistfully. "I don't know if I can do this."

Arista took her friend's hand in her own, using her empathic talent to project feelings of support and confidence to her Housemate. "Yes you can, Mel. You're the ghostwalker, you can beat him without half-trying. It's what you were born to do, like I was born to Heal. Believe in yourself, Melinda Seton. I do." She knew from one of her father's lectures on fighting necromancers that confidence was paramount in a duel. "Go into a fight thinking you'll lose and you have signed your own death warrant," Severus had told her a few months ago. "Confidence is as important as skill sometimes. But overconfidence can get you killed, the two aren't the same. Remember that."

"Me too," Trish said, smiling at Mel.

Kit and Drake also added their own encouragement.

Mel gave them all a tentative smile. "Thanks, guys. I'll try." She scowled at her hands, she'd bitten her nails to the quick last night. "Why couldn't I have been born with the talent to make fantastic candy or summon pink bunnies or something like that? No, instead I get the talent to see dead people and command them. Figures!"

Kit snapped his fingers. "Hey, I just thought of something."

"Besides your stomach?" Drake asked slyly.

"Stuff it, Lockwood. I'm not always starving." Kit glared at the other boy. "Seriously, I thought that maybe you could summon up one of your ancestors, Mel, and ask them about the one who was a ghostwalker."

Mel looked thoughtful. "That's not a bad idea, Kit. But I don't know if my power works like that. Guess I'll just have to wait and ask Queen Anne tonight."

"Speaking of Anne, d'you think she and the other ghosts are revenants?" Trish queried. "I mean, they're not evil or anything, but they are bound by a curse the way revenants usually are."

Drake looked thoughtful. "Maybe they're a different kind of revenant, a benign one." He shook his head. "No, that's too confusing. The professor said revenants were vengeful dark spirits, and Anne Boleyn and the princes don't fit that criteria. So, no, I don't think they're revenants at all."

"I'll tell you what they are," Mel said suddenly, and they all looked at her. "Bloody pains-in-the-arses for getting me mixed up in this." She laughed at their disappointed expressions. "What, did you expect me to reveal some great secret to all of you? Sorry, but I'm fresh out of revelation juice." She eyed Arista's black staff. "Well, since we're all stuck in the same boat, maybe we should prepare a few weapons of our own. Anyone got a silver weapon lying around?"

Trish shook her head. "Nope. I don't think Severus is the type to go for edged weapons."

Kit nodded in agreement, then said quietly, "I might have something at home. There was an old fencing sword of my father's, it's hanging on a rack on the wall of my basement, I think it's silver and very dusty."

"Can you use it?" Drake asked.

"Yeah, actually I can. Dad made Nigel and me take fencing lessons for a year. Nigel hated it, but I loved it. That was the one thing I could beat him in. He couldn't touch me with a sword, I won all of our practices, which annoyed my perfect brother to no end. That was why he begged my dad to let us quit. And as usual, he got his way. But I still remember how to use a sword, so that's something."

"You won't get in trouble if you borrow it?" Trish asked.

"Nah. It's been down there for ages, I'll bet Dad's forgotten about it by now. Nobody will care if I snitch it." Kit said nonchalantly.

"Good. That's two weapons so far." Mel looked down at Drake, who was seated on the couch near Arista. "How about you, Drake?"

"My dad's not real big on having weapons, since he's a vet," Drake answered softly. "But a bunch of Lockwoods were soldiers way back when, so maybe I can go and look in the attic or something."

"We can worry about that later," Arista said. "Let's take a break and play with Scout and Libby, they could use the exercise." She pointed to the two magehounds, her own and Drake's, who were snoozing on the hearth from sheer boredom. Libby, short for Liberty, was only a year and still a puppy, was always ready for a game of fetch or tag. "Scout, Libby, want to play fetch?" she called.

Both dogs jerked awake and were on their feet so fast it was as if someone had lit a fire under their tails. All of the young wizards laughed and followed the dogs out to the backyard, where they played several games of tag and fetch and find the magic ball until it was suppertime.

* * * * * *

That evening they all headed back to the Tower at eight o'clock, wanting to question the ghosts some more about the nature of the curse and the dark wizard they would be facing. As promised by Anne Boleyn, they had no trouble slipping inside the Tower unnoticed, for the Yeoman on duty were all busy chasing or being chased by the princes. Catherine Howard, who had a fascination with video cameras, had managed to make all the security cameras shut down for a long while, enough so the guards would be too busy fixing them to interfere with Anne's lessons.

All of them greeted Anne respectfully, the former queen, despite being a ghost, still radiated an aura of command that they responded to instinctively. "Greetings, young wizards," she said cordially. "This is my cousin, Catherine—or Cat, as she likes to be called—Howard."

Cat Howard, in life, had been a pretty vivacious eighteen-year-old, one who had enjoyed parties and dancing and fine things, but who had no head for politics at all. In death she was still a pretty woman, but her eyes were older and wiser than any eighteen-year-old's ever could be, a wisdom gained only in death.

"Hello," she smiled at them, she was wearing a misty blue gown with pearls about the sleeves and hem, her blond hair cascading down her back. "It's so nice to have someone else to talk with besides that cretin Wrackspur," her mouth tightened to a disapproving frown. "All he cares about is how much energy he can steal from us. You know what I need from you by now, Miss Howard, so just give it to me," she mimicked the deeper tones of the other wizard perfectly, her mouth twisting further into a sneer of disgust. "The arrogance of the man! Who does he think he is, to so treat a former Queen of England? I, who was once Henry's wife, the one he called his Rose Without a Thorn, to be so ill-used by a common conjurer!"

"As we are all so ill-used," remarked another voice, and the SR's jumped about a foot.

All except Mel, who had felt the presence of another ghost before he appeared. The newcomer was a rather tall man dressed in brown leather breeches and a white blouse that reminded Arista of a pirate's shirt. Over that was a crimson doublet and a small ruff with a gold stickpin was about his neck. He also had a jaunty cap perched on his dark hair, and his smiling mouth was framed by a small goatee. He swept the hat off immediately and bowed to them.

"Sir Walter Raleigh, at your service." He smiled rakishly at Trish, Mel, and Arista. "Former buccaneer and advisor in the service of good Queen Bess. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing this fine evening?"

Mel spoke up then, sensing that this was some kind of test. "I'm Mel Seton, ghostwalker, and these are my friends," she introduced them quickly, noting that the devilishly handsome Raleigh still carried a sword, knife, and pistol in his belt.

"Charmed, ladies," he grinned, sweeping them another bow. "And gentlemen as well. We have waited long for a ghostwalker to be born again."

Anne glanced around. "Are we all here? No, of course not, the princes are still terrorizing the yeoman and Margaret is busy re-enacting her death at the hands of that incompetent fool of a headsman at this time of night. And Thomas is probably busy trying to repair the wall, same way he's been doing for five hundred years at least." She turned to Mel. "Mistress Seton, would you be so kind as to call the rest of them here to me?"

As before, Mel called out the names of each of the ghosts, bidding them to come to her. Within a few moments, they were joined by the two mischievous princes, Edward and Richard, Thomas Becket, former Chancellor and Archbishop, and Margaret Pole, Countess of Salisbury, first cousin to the Plantagenet princes.

The princes wore huge grins on their faces, for they had enjoyed being allowed to drive the Yeoman that guarded the Tower to distraction. This time around, they greeted the ghostwalker and her friends a bit more casually.

Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, was a dignified matron of seventy, she wore a bottle green gown covered with rust red stains, stains that Arista correctly assumed were bloodstains from her execution. She curtseyed gravely to Mel and nodded her head to everyone else.

Thomas Becket smiled genially at everyone, his ghost was quite handsome, dressed in his Archbishop's vestments and miter, which he'd been slain in before the altar. The left side of his robe bore a huge slash in it and another bloodstain. He'd been stabbed to death by noblemen acting on Henry II's orders, and died a martyr's death.

"Now that we are all here and assured that we will not be interrupted anytime soon," Anne began, looking towards the princes and Cat Howard as she said this, the three of them gave her brief nods of assurance, "I call this meeting to begin. You may be seated, young wizards," she gestured to the chairs that were scattered about the antechamber of the White Tower.

It was a sort of waiting room where people could sit while they waited for a tour guide. Mel and company quickly sat down.

"You all have heard Mistress Seton's call, and therefore know she is a ghostwalker, the first born in over five hundred years, and the key to breaking the curse we've endured once and for all."

Raleigh and the two princes applauded, and Cat and Margaret smiled hopefully.

"That will be as the Lord wills, Anne," Becket said only.

"Indeed, Thomas," the former queen returned, respectfully. "And the Lord has seen fit to send us Mistress Seton. Who will need instruction on how to use her powers before Wrackspur returns, him and his fell hound."

"Fell hound?" Arista repeated. "What's that?"

"A wicked demon in a hound's form, young mistress," answered Raleigh.

"Wrackspur's familiar," Cat added, grimacing. "A black mastiff with glowing hellfire eyes."

"'Tis said the fell hounds used to lead the Wild Hunt on All Hallow's Eve," put in Edward. "Least so our nurse used to tell us."

"Can a fell hound be commanded by a ghostwalker?" asked Mel.

Margaret shook her head. "No, for the hound is no phantom, but a living creature, if one can say such of it."

"Great, just great!" Kit muttered to Drake. "Now we've got some demon dog to deal with as well as the blasted necromancer. Can this get any worse?"

"Always, Ambrosius, so don't say that too loud," Drake returned, frowning at the other boy. Kit lapsed back in his chair, a scowl on his face. Drake ignored him and turned to look at Anne. "Your Majesty, can a fell hound be killed? It's not, uh, immortal or something?"

"No, Master Lockwood. The fell hound is not immortal, and can be slain, but only by one with a blessed weapon who knows how to wield it properly. They are not the easiest creatures to kill, so I would tell you to be careful. The bite of a fell hound is poisonous, it carries some kind of venom in its fangs."

"Like a snake?" Drake clarified.

"Yes, exactly so."

"But silver weapons and holy water will destroy it?" Arista queried.

All of the ghosts nodded.

"This curse you spoke of, Queen Anne, how and when did it start?" Mel asked. "If I'm to break it, I need to know details."

"I'm aware of that, Mistress Seton. As I told you yesterday, the curse over the Tower is ancient, it began before my time, as a result of all the blood and death in this place. The imprint of so many souls dying tragically or unfairly leaves its mark in the spirit realm as well as in the physical world. It is like a great bloodstain, dark with despair and fear.

"Yet there is more to the curse than that. The curse is ultimately one of deceit and betrayal. All of us here died untimely, betrayed by someone we trusted, deceived by those we thought we our friends and allies. Some, like Cat, Walter, and I, died by the headsman's axe, a merciful death. Others, like poor Margaret, were not even granted that much. Hers was a most grisly end." The Countess had been hacked to death by an inexperienced executioner. "Edward and Richard were betrayed and murdered by the Duke of Buckingham, as they said. I, as you know, was arrested on false charges of adultery and condemned by my husband, King Henry. The same is true of Cat Howard."

"Not quite, Anne," Cat interjected. "In my case, the charges were true."

"How so?" scoffed Anne. "A few kisses and hugs in a corner is not adultery, Cat, and well you know it! You and Thomas Culpepper never went beyond that, did you?"

Cat shook her head. "No, but we thought of it. We knew what we did was wrong, that we committed treason against our sovereign."

"A tyrannical old lecher, if there ever was one!" Anne spat. "How many girls did he invite to _his_ bed after your marriage, I wonder? Five? Fifteen?"

"About that, probably." Cat sighed. "But that was a king's prerogative."

"Say rather a man's prerogative!" Anne sniffed. "Why should a woman be condemned for the same sin as a man? Is that justice?"

"No, but it happened long ago, Anne," Cat soothed. "I forgave him a long time ago for what he did to me."

"I don't know if I ever can," the other woman sighed. "And there you have the root of the problem. The curse feeds off of all of the negative energy within the Tower. Margaret was betrayed by Henry as well, condemned to die to prevent any Plantagenet supporters from using her or her heirs as a claim to the throne, though what threat a seventy-year-old woman represented, I know not."

"Fear drives men to do unspeakable things," Margaret said softly. Henry Tudor feared that his father's lies would come to light eventually, and that his claim upon the throne would be declared false, since Harry Tudor usurped the crown from King Richard, and later married his niece, Elizabeth, to cement his hold on the throne. It's an old story."

"Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive," Raleigh quoted. "Such is the bane of all mankind, I think."

"Sir Walter is right." Anne continued, regaining her composure. "He was executed by James I, to appease a cowardly Spanish ambassador, on trumped of charges of treason. Another instance where justice failed."

"Justice always fails, dear lady, when handled by fools," Raleigh said bitterly. "James was a fool beyond compare."

"And Archbishop Thomas Becket was, as you probably know, murdered on the orders of his once dear friend, Henry II, because he refused to put the kings wishes before that of the church."

"Actually, there was a bit more to it than just that, Anne," Becket added. "But that is one of the major things we fought over. And I do not think that Henry ever meant his words to be acted upon by his nobles. He was angry when he said them, and I think he regretted most terribly what he said later. He did do penance for it, as I recall."

"Didn't do you much good, now did it, Thomas?" Anne said snidely. Then she shook her head. "Forgive me, that was unkind. Because of the nature of our deaths, the Tower curse has bound us here for eternity. We are doomed to relive the hour and manner of our deaths and to walk forever as ghosts, never to rest. But recently, Dirk Wrackspur has added a new condition to the curse. He has altered it so that he can drain us of our energy, but by doing so he has also made it possible for the curse to be broken."

"How do I do it then, Your Majesty?"

"You must confront him in a duel arcane and win, Mistress Seton."

"I don't have to kill him, then?"

"No, just break the spell he's using to siphon off our energy. Once that's done, we will be free." Anne replied.

"But it will not be easy. The connection's in the spirit realm, not this one," Raleigh said.

"And in order to find it you have to become a ghost, like us," chimed in Richard.

Mel looked dubious, but then she said gamely, "And just how do I do that, since I'm not dead yet?"

"That is what we are here to teach you," Anne said. "Attend me closely now, Mistress. As a ghostwalker, you are a link between the living and the dead. You are one of the few people who can speak to all ghosts and see them, even when they don't wish to be seen. You can also summon us at will, and command us if you have need, and we are bound to obey. Last, but not least, you can assume a phantom form, thus strengthening your ties to the spirit realm. While in that form, you cannot be harmed, at least not physically. Some magic will still affect you, but when you are in phantom form, you are essentially a ghost and cannot die."

"But if somebody sticks a sword through your gut and you change over to human form, you'll be killed just the same," put in Edward.

"Correct, Edward," Anne said calmly. "An important thing to remember when you're phasing back and forth."

"How long can I be in phantom form?"

"For as long as your concentration holds, young one. But as you grow more accustomed, your concentration should increase." Anne cleared her throat, then glided forward to stand before Mel. "The key to phantom form is to relax and then let yourself fade, child. Now I want you to breathe deeply, in and out, twenty times. Are you feeling relaxed and calm? Good. Now reach out and touch my hand."

"How? You're a ghost?"

"Just do it," Anne ordered, holding out one white hand.

Tentatively, Mel placed her hand in Anne's. But instead of going through the ghost, her hand clasped Anne's own! It was icy cold to the touch, but a feeling of peace filled her, and she did not let go. A tingling sensation spread up her arm and then she vanished from sight.

Trish and Kit yelled in astonishment. Drake blinked and peered hard at the spot where Mel had been scant seconds before. Arista merely grinned, for she could still feel Mel's presence, even though she couldn't yet see her.

Then she could see Mel, she was still gripping Anne's hand, and like the ghost's her form was misty and transparent, but unmistakably Mel.

The ghostwalker gazed down at herself. "Bloody hell! I can see through myself!" came her astonished cry. She wriggled a hand, it went right through the chair she had been sitting on.

"What's it feel like, Mel?" Kit called.

"Umm . . .it feels . . .weird. Sort of icy. But I'm not cold, not really."

"Stand up and walk about, child," Anne encouraged, stepping back from her.

Mel took a step forward. Then another. "I'm walking, but I can't feel the floor," she said.

"Of course not," chuckled Richard. "You're a ghost now, Mel! And now you can fly, like this!" He held out his hands and was floating through the air. "Try it, it's easy!"

"Maybe for you it is, kid," Mel muttered. She practiced walking about. "Can you guys still see me?"

"Yes, only you've gone all white and misty," Trish said helpfully.

"Kind of like glass," Arista added.

Richard and Edward zipped about her, laughing and waving. "Try this, Mel! Fly through the wall."

The two ghostly brothers slipped in and out of the wall, smirking. One would shove a hand through, or a foot, or part of his face, looking like some bizarre frozen artwork.

Richard poked all of himself through the wall save for his hands and yelled, "Look, Ma, no hands!"

Kit snickered at the little boy's wit.

Not to be out done, Edward vanished and reappeared with only his head sticking out of the wall. "Well, I ain't got no body!" he shrieked and then looked at his brother and cracked up.

The adult specters merely shook their heads in amused tolerance at the brothers' antics, plainly they were used to them.

Cat Howard glided up to Mel and took her hand. "Watch me. You need to sort of float, gently, like this, see?" she demonstrated. "You move more with your mind than with your legs now, Mel."

Mel concentrated and suddenly found herself hovering some three feet off the floor. "Yikes!" she cried. "How do I get down?" Then she lost her concentration and became solid again. Cat's hand slipped through hers and she landed on the floor on her bottom with a thump.

Kit stared at her in concern. "You okay, Mel?"

"Fine," Mel hissed, coming to her feet. "I used to fall all the time, remember?" She scowled at herself. "Good thing Marsh wasn't here to see that, she'd laugh herself sick."

"Don't be discouraged, child. Try again," urged Margaret, giving her a grandmotherly smile.

"I will, ma'am. Just give me a second." Mel said, then concentrated again. This time she became a phantom much quicker, and was visible to her friends almost instantly. "Let's try that again," she said to Cat, and the young queen giggled and took her hand.

"You are a plucky thing, aren't you, Lady Seton?" she said, tossing her hair about so it fanned across her like a cloak.

While Mel practiced gliding with Catherine Howard, Raleigh came over and peered down at the black staff in Arista's hands with interest. "A powerful holy weapon that is, young Arista. Where did you obtain it?"

"It's my father's. I found it in his lab," she admitted. "I thought it might be useful if we had to fight revenants."

Raleigh nodded in approval. "Oh, most assuredly it shall. The Blackstaff has sent many a tortured spirit to their final rest."

"What did you call it? The Blackstaff?"

"Yes. It was first made during the Crusades, by a holy monk named Tiernan Rowe. He carved it and blessed it and gave it to a Templar Knight who had taken vows never to use an edged weapon. It was said he used it to protect Richard the Lionheart in a mighty battle against Saladin, and when he died, a part of his spirit was transferred into the staff. It was passed in turn to his younger brother, who used it during his tenure as a shire reeve, that is a lawman, and drove out the ghost that haunted Hill Abbey in Yorkshire."

"Really? Then how did my dad come by it?"

"Your family name, Snape, is quite common in Yorkshire. There is a town there with that name," said Raleigh.

"I know. I've read about it. But my grandfather, Tobias Snape, was a Muggle, he didn't have magic like us. So how did he inherit a magic staff?"

"The Blackstaff does not have to be wielded by a wizard. Perhaps it was handed down as an heirloom or something. It is very old and probably some ancestor has cast a preserving enchantment on it, but that is not where its true power lies. The blessings it has been given by its creator and the Templar knight who first wielded it have endowed it with holy properties, making it the ideal weapon to ward off evil spirits."

"My father wrote an essay on how to fight and protect yourself against revenants. He mentioned a staff as a weapon, not this staff, per say, but maybe that's what he had in mind."

Raleigh chuckled. "Wizards love secrets, milady, as I'm sure you know, being one yourself. Do you know how to use a staff, young lady?"

Arista nodded. "Yes, sir. Colin, my teacher back in America, taught me how to use martial arts and some weapons."

"Would you like to try it out?" Raleigh asked, his eyes sparkling with eagerness. "My sword against your staff?"

"Sure, but what if I hit you with it? Won't it hurt you?"

"Only a little," he laughed. "I'm not a revenant, so I don't think the staff will hurt me much. Certainly no worse than what my old arms tutor used to give me for not paying attention during his lesson." He drew his sword, backing up until he was about four feet from Arista. "Come then, Mistress Snape, show me thy mettle!"

Arista advanced, holding the staff in two hands before her crosswise.

Raleigh darted forward, poking at her with his rapier.

She swung the staff up to block and the ghostly sword connected with the black wood with a soft ping.

"Ah, as I thought! It blocks my assault!" Raleigh cried in delight. "En guarde, Mistress!"

Arista soon discovered that Raleigh was a superb swordsman, and far from threatening him with harm from the Blackstaff, it was she who was threatened, or would have been, had he been a living opponent. Still, it was fun to fence with him, and Arista knew she could really use the practice, it had been a long time since she had used a staff.

Kit and Drake watched the fencing match enviously, wishing they had swords to fence with against Raleigh or even Becket, who had been quite a good swordsman in his day, before he became Archbishop of Canterbury.

Meanwhile, Mel was learning how to hover and move through solid objects, instructed by Cat, Anne, and the two princes. As Anne had said, using her power as a ghostwalker was almost instinctive, the only thing she had to remember was to focus her mind on holding herself in phantom form.

Trish spoke to Becket, asking his advice about prayer circles and whether or not they would be effective against revenants that lived in the Tower. Becket answered gravely that yes, they might be, if the one casting them had sufficient faith in God. "Faith is power, child. Walk with the Lord, and evil shall not touch you."

Before they knew it, the bells on the Tower clock had chimed twice, and it was ten o'clock. They had been talking and practicing with the Tower ghosts for two hours. They quickly bid the ghosts good night and left, unseen, as they had come in, thanks to Cat Howard and Edward and Richard.

The two boys left soon after they'd reached Diagon Alley, for both of them had curfews at ten thirty. The girls waved at them, then Mel said, "I told my parents I was spending the night at your house, Arista."

Together, the three teenagers soared back to the little house on Spinner's End, tired, yet filled with a sense of accomplishment. Mel demonstrated her newfound power to slip through solid objects until it drove Trish and Arista crazy and they begged her to quit it.

Mel did, chuckling wickedly. "Oh, and just think, I can scare the blue blazes out of Marsh next term!" Brittany Marsh was their nemesis, a stuck-up Slytherin a year older than they were who delighted in tormenting younger students. They had declared war on each other since Arista had first attended Hogwarts during their fourth year.

Trish smirked. "Serve her right too. Mel, did you tell your parents about this?"

"You mean that I'm a ghostwalker? No, not yet. I will after this thing with the Tower is done, though. I just hope they don't die of shock, though! I'd rather not have to use my power to talk to them after they're dead, know what I mean?"

Arista yawned. "I don't know about you, but I'm beat. Let's go to bed. You can practice sticking your face in and out of the fridge door tomorrow, Mel."

"Spoilsport," her friend laughed, then used her phantom form to float up through the ceiling to Arista and Trish's bedroom above the kitchen.


	5. From the Depths of Hell

**From the Depths of Hell**

**Lots of action and a big battle in this one!**

The third night arrived, and a storm was brewing off to the east, perhaps heralding the arrival of the Ghost Master. The five friends all met over at Spinner's End, having made various excuses to their parents about where they were going to be for the weekend. All the potions suggested by Snape in his essay on Defense and combating revenants had been brewed and Arista handed out a vial of each potion to everyone, to be drunk just before the Ghost Master's arrival at the Tower.

The Blackstaff had been coated with a vial of holy water obtained from St. Paul's Cathedral over in Whitechapel, it soaked up the liquid and gleamed wetly to the young Healer's magic sight. Kit had obtained the silver rapier from his family's basement and treated it also with another vial.

Drake had rummaged around in the attic and managed to find a short slender dagger which he said was called a misericord, because it was carried as a weapon of last resort by warriors, to deliver a mercy stroke to a fallen enemy or themselves. It was made of silver and the hilt was aged black leather stamped with the Lockwood crest—a rowan tree with a set of keys entwined in its branches and a dragon coiled about the base. "The rowan represents white magic, the keys are the means to unlock it, and the dragon guards it." Drake explained when Arista asked him what the crest stood for. "My family motto is To Guard and Keep Safe Magic Forever. An old family legend says that back in the days of Merlin and Arthur, a Lockwood was an apprentice to Merlin, and he entrusted my ancestor with the task of guarding several rare and valuable spellbooks that could cause great harm if they fell into the wrong hands. When he knew he was dying, he gave my ancestor a key to a secret chamber in a rowan tree and ordered him to keep the knowledge and magic contained in those books safe. And my ancestor did, for no one ever discovered the books last hiding place. The legend says the tree is guarded by a fearsome dragon that only a Lockwood can tame and the only keys that will unlock the chamber are the ones my family owns."

"D'you think there really are spellbooks hidden away somewhere?" Kit asked.

Drake shrugged. "Who knows? All I know is that the eldest son in each generation gets a set of silver and gold keys, but what they unlock is a mystery. A couple of my ancestors used to go on quests, trying to find the tree that the keys were supposed to unlock, but they never did. My father thinks it's just a story, though he keeps the keys in his vault anyhow, since they're a family heirloom. When he dies, they'll be passed down to me, since I'm the only son he's got. Not that I'm in any hurry to get them, God knows."

"But don't you ever wonder about the mystery the keys might unlock?" kit wanted to know. He loved puzzles.

"Right now I don't have time to wonder about a mystery vault that's been hidden for centuries, Kit. I'm more worried over what we're going to face tonight," Drake replied with a hint of exasperation. "Besides, my father has to die before I inherit those keys, and they're not worth his life, to my way of thinking. Far as I'm concerned, whatever the keys unlock can stay hidden for another hundred years." He began to coat the blade of the misericord with holy water.

"You're right. Time enough to wonder about that later, after we've sent what's-his-name crawling back to Voldy where he belongs." Kit tried a few experimental passes with his silver rapier. "Funny, though, how my ancestor and yours were friends too."

"It was fated in the stars, as Trelawney would say," drawled Lockwood with a wry grin.

"What about you, Trish?" Mel asked, noting that the blond girl was the only one without a real weapon.

"I can't use a weapon like the rest of you," she said. "So I've got this instead." She held up a long silver chain with a silver crucifix on it. "I bought this in St. Paul's. It's supposed to have been blessed by the Archbishop of Canterbury himself. I reckon that's protection enough against revenants."

"Okay, let's go over our checklist again," Arista said, pulling out a long strip of parchment. She began to read off the list of items they should all have, including the six kinds of potions, a blessed silver weapon, and a bag of salt, since Anne had told them that revenants were wary of salt, it had been long regarded as a bane of dark wizards.

"We're all set, Arista," said Drake, tucking the dagger in its sheath into his belt.

"Let's fly."

They all mounted their brooms and flew across the city to the Tower of London and their final meeting with Tower ghosts that hopefully would end in the breaking of the centuries old curse at last.

* * * * * *

They landed at the entrance to the Tower without mishap, and tucked their brooms inside a small storage cupboard just inside the gates. Mel shivered and looked sick, and kit walked over and put an arm about her comfortingly. She leaned into his embrace gratefully.

"You okay, Mel?" he murmured.

"No. I feel like I'm going to be sick."

"Please, not on me," he joked lightly. Then he hugged her and said, "Just do it the way you've been practicing, Seton. You'll be fine. You're a natural, remember?"

"I wish I could believe that."

"Nothing's impossible with magic, Mel," Arista quoted one of her favorite sayings, projecting a wave of confidence and reassurance at the other Ravenclaw.

"You're the ghostwalker, Mel. Now get in there and kick some necromancer's butt, okay?" Trish encouraged.

"We'll be right behind you, beating the crap out of whoever else he brings along," Drake told her, meeting her eyes steadily. "So you just concentrate on breaking the curse and leave the rest to us."

"Yes, sir, General Lockwood, sir!" Mel said, and gave him a salute and a lopsided smile.

Then she led the way into the Tower.

As before, the security cameras and systems had suffered an unexpected breakdown, and the Yeoman guards were being tormented by the princes and Margaret Pole, who was re-enacting the last moments of her death on the scaffold, holding the guards watching spellbound and breathless with horror. The SR's climbed the stairs up to the White Tower swiftly, their chosen battleground for the coming fight.

In the Tower antechamber they were met by Anne Boleyn, Raleigh, Becket, and Edward.

"Where's Richard , Margaret, and Cat?" Mel asked, glancing around for them.

"Still distracting the guards," Anne replied. "They'll be along shortly. Now, are you all prepared?"

"We are, Queen Anne," Mel spoke up calmly, all traces of her earlier nervousness gone. "Tonight you'll go to your final rest, I promise, sure as my name's Melinda Sandra Seton."

Anne smiled down at her. "May God bless and keep you, Lady Seton, ghostwalker. Our hopes and prayers go with you, young lady." The clock in the bell tower chimed eleven o'clock. "He usually arrives at midnight or thereabouts. The witching hour, he calls it."

"He's gonna get bewitched, all right," Trish muttered, drawing her crucifix from under her shirt and winding it about her wrist.

"Will you be able to sense him before he comes up here?" Arista wanted to know. "We've got six potions to drink before then."

"That won't be a problem, Mistress Snape. We of the Tower can always feel him, he radiates an aura of evil that shrivels your bones, if we had bones left to shrivel, that is!" she gave a soft nervous laugh.

Just then, Richard, Cat, and Margaret all appeared in the room.

"Hurrah, you're here, Mel!" Richard whooped, flinging his ghostly arms about her in a spectral embrace. "Tonight we send the tyrant straight to the devil!"

"And get out of this prison for good and all," said Cat eagerly. "God's wounds, but I can't wait to shake the dust of this place from my shoes. No more running down hallways screaming for Henry to save me, the randy old goat!"

"Amen for that!" agreed Margaret. "I'll be so grateful when I don't have to re-enact that cursed death scene any more. Four hundred and fifty odd years was more than enough, by God's foot!"

"At last we can be with our parents and Uncle Richard again," said Edward wistfully. "I've missed them ever so much."

"As I'm sure they've missed you, lads," said Raleigh, reaching out to tousle Edward's hair. "Like I've missed my family."

Becket smiled serenely. "All of your loved ones shall be waiting for you at the gates of Heaven."

"Are you so sure I'll be allowed into Heaven, Thomas?" Raleigh asked with a wicked chuckle.

The Archbishop laughed. "Walter, if they'll let me in, they'll surely let you in, since your sins are so much less than mine!"

"I rather doubt that, my friend."

Becket waved a hand dismissively. "We've done our time in purgatory, Walter. The gates will be open for us, never fear."

"I wonder if Henry will be in Heaven?" murmured Anne.

"Well, if he is, you can punch him one right in the nose!" said Richard gleefully.

Anne laughed loudly. "Dickon, you incurable scamp! If he is there, I think I shall take your advice, he certainly has it coming."

"I'll say!" Catherine Howard cried. "You punch him and I'll kick him, Anne. Right where it'll hurt most." Then she bit her lip nervously. "Can we get kicked out of Heaven for brawling?"

They all looked at Becket.

"How would I know? I'm not God," he said. "Though I would say, He might understand, seeing as you two have over four centuries of pent up anger towards Henry to release. So long as you forgive your husband afterwards," he added with a stern frown.

"I shall be glad to do so afterwards," Anne snorted. "Provided he apologizes to us." Cat was nodding vigorously.

"Forgiveness should come without conditions, daughters," Becket reproved gently.

"Only if you're God," Anne shot back saucily, making the others laugh. Then she said briskly, "All teasing aside, are we all prepared to do what we must?" the other ghosts answered affirmatively. "Good. Then assume your places, please."

One by one, a ghost moved to stand behind each of the SR's. Anne moved to stand behind Arista, Raleigh behind Kit, Cat behind Drake, and Becket behind Trish.

The moment they felt the presence of Dirk Wrackspur, Arista, Mel, Drake, Kit, and Trish would swallow the potions and then allow the ghost standing behind them to envelop them, shielding their form from the Ghost Master's sight, gaining them the element of surprise.

Mel would be in phantom form, and thus would not need shielding. She just prayed it would be enough. She wished suddenly she were not the ghostwalker, or that she had some adults alongside her, preferably powerful wizards like Dumbledore and Snape. Then her mouth twisted in a wry grin, thinking of how they'd all catch hell from Severus if he ever found out what they were doing. "Detention for a year, all of you!" she could hear him bellow. "After I take care of this necromancer, that is." And he would too, of that Mel had not the slightest doubt.

She squared her shoulders and took two deep breaths, finding her center. Do what has to be done, Melinda Seton, and whine about it later, she told herself firmly.

The clock struck the half-hour.

Mel extended her senses outward, probing the interior of the Tower, sensing the restlessness of the Tower's undead denizens, those ghosts who were had abandoned their humanity for hate and despair and envy. She could feel them stirring, deep down in the bowels of the Tower dungeons, where scores had been tortured to death on the orders of one king or another, many unfairly accused.

She knew they sensed her presence and were wary of her, who was the link between the world of the dead and that of the living. Shadows, they're only shadows, and they can't hurt me, she whispered over and over in her mind. With the breaking of the curse, I'll send them back to sleep, never to wake again. An icy chill crawled down her backbone and she shivered, hugging herself. She was afraid, but not for herself. She was afraid for her friends, who had been dragged into this for her sake, and who refused to abandon her, no matter how dangerous it was. She loved them for their support, yet at the same despised herself for a coward, unable to tell them to leave her alone. Right, as if they would have gone anyway. Keep dreaming, girl! she thought derisively.

Across the room, she saw Kit grin at her encouragingly, and she thought that if she ever got out of here, she was going to kiss him right away, the way she ought've done last week. And ask him out on a date too, since it didn't seem like he was ever going to get up the nerve to ask her. _Later,_ she reminded herself sternly. _Focus on the task at hand, Seton,_ she scolded herself in a Snape-like tone.

Suddenly, Mel felt a shifting in the aura surrounding the tower. It had gotten darker and more malevolent. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stiffen.

"He's coming," hissed Edward.

Immediately, all of the SR's reached into pockets and satchels, pulled out their potions and gulped them down.

Swallowing so many potions at one time made Mel feel slightly ill, or maybe it was only knowing that she must soon face a terrible foe that was making her stomach churn. She could feel the Excelsior Potion snap a glowing shield around her body, the Fearless Potion made her doubts vanish, the Fireproof Potion made her impervious to heat for a time, and the Snakeswift hissed through her limbs, making them vibrate with lightning energy.

Opposite her she heard Kit groan, "Are you sure we should have drunk them all at once, Arista? 'Cause I think I'm going to be sick."

"You shouldn't be, since they're not working on an empty stomach." Arista replied. "You did eat something like I told you?"

"Uh, no. I forgot."

Mel could see Arista's eyes rolling all the way across the room. "Ambrosius, you dork," Arista muttered, sounding remarkably like her father with a student who couldn't remember to follow simple instructions. "Don't worry about it, you'll be fine in a bit."

"Easy for you to say," Kit grumbled.

Then there was no more time to worry about upset stomachs or anything else save the Ghost Master's arrival. The Tower ghosts quickly enveloped each of their wizard charges in a type of glamour spell, making it appear that there was no one in the room alive. Mel quickly blurred into phantom form, gasping involuntarily as the full weight of the Ghost Master's evil aura hit her.

She had never truly felt someone from the Dark path before, and the terrible darkness slammed into her like a sucker punch to the jaw. But she refused to give into it. That was what the Ghost Master wanted, after all, for his victims to be prostrate with fear.

Then the door to the antechamber opened and the man who called himself the Ghost Master stepped into the room. From his aura, Mel half-expected him to be sporting horns and a tail. Instead he looked distressingly ordinary, all save for his eyes.

Dirk Wrackspur was a medium-sized man of around twenty-seven or so, with long hair that was a silvery white. He was dressed all in white too, shirt, pants, cloak, and boots. White trimmed with gold at the cuffs and hem, like a fairy tale prince. He held a white hawthorn wand in one hand.

Only his eyes hinted at the darkness coiled within his soul.

They were a strange gold color, like a newly minted Galleon, and when Mel met them for the first time, she shivered despite the Fearless Potion.

For Wrackspur's eyes were devoid of warmth, of anything resembling human emotion. They were dead and cold, like the ghosts he summoned in his wake.

Beside Wrackspur was a huge black mastiff with burning red eyes. It bared its teeth and snarled, tongues of reddish spittle dripping from its massive jaws to fall upon the floor, hissing as it struck the stone.

The Ghost Master smiled and beckoned with a hand, and the revenants he'd summoned followed him into the room, crowding in behind him in a dark wave. Mel counted at least twenty of them, all of them filled with lust, envy, and hate.

Wrackspur's gaze lit on Anne and he said in a smooth oily voice, "Well met once more, Mistress Anne. I have returned as I promised, and now you will give me what I desire, yes?"

Anne drew herself up to her full height, her eyes flashing, and said haughtily, "No, knave. I have told you and told you, that was the last time you shall take from us without our consent. We are not puppets to be dance to your tune, Wrackspur! And you will address me as Your Grace, for I was once queen of this realm!"

"Queen indeed!" Wrackspur sneered. "For a mere thousand days, and most of them hated by the very people you ruled! You were naught but a failure, Anne Boleyn. Failed daughter, failed mother, failed wife. Only in death do you have some use, and that is for me to grow stronger." He took two steps forward, wand pointed menacingly at the misty figure of Henry VIII's second wife. "You will give me your energy, Boleyn slut, or else suffer my wrath!"

Anne laughed mockingly. "Think you so? On the contrary, 'tis you who shall suffer, Wrackspur. Suffer the wrath of a ghostwalker!"

That was Mel's cue, and she did not miss it. "Fight for me, Anne, Cat, Richard, Edward, Raleigh, Margaret, and Becket!" she shouted, putting the power of a ghostwalker into her voice, so they would be compelled to obey her and not the other wizard.

At that, the Tower ghosts separated from their wizard charges to attack the hoard of revenants.

Wrackspur gaped at her, seeing her for the first time. "You—a little schoolgirl—you are fabled ghostwalker?"

"That's right, buddy." Mel declared impudently. "And you're gonna regret the day you ever set foot here."

"We'll see about that!" he leveled his wand at her and shouted a spell she didn't recognize,

She felt a blast of icy wind envelop her, but the Fearless Potion enabled her to fight off the chill waves of dread, and she shook off the supernatural chill in moments. "That the best you've got? And here I thought you were good." Then she floated towards him, moving with the blinding speed of a black mamba.

He barely registered the fact that she was in front of him before she made the lower half of her body solid and kicked him in jaw with a roundhouse. He fell backwards with a snarled curse, hitting the floor with a thud.

"Fade! Attack!" he ordered.

The fell hound lunged towards her, but she melted into phantom form and he jumped through her and landed in the middle of the room, jaws clicking on empty air.

"Here, puppy, puppy!" Kit taunted, skewering a revenant that floated at him neatly. The silver rapier he wielded left a smoking hole in the specter and it howled in rage before it vanished, unable to withstand the combination of silver coated with holy water.

The fell hound gave a soft cry of hate and raced towards the young Gryffindor, its eyes blazing with the fires of hell.

Off to Kit's left, Raleigh fenced with a revenant that had four foot claws and fangs like a wolf's, his rapier and dagger swirling in the air in patterns only a master swordsman could follow. Though the revenant could not be truly harmed by the adventurer's sword, it screeched when Raleigh scored on it nevertheless.

Further away, Trish warded off three revenants with her crucifix, the cross glowing with a holy flame. Beside her was Thomas Becket, praying in Latin in a deep sonorous tone that had the revenants hissing and cringing away, hands coming up to cover their faces, unable to withstand the power of the priest's faith.

Trish spun in a circle, sprinkling salt in an arc about her, forming a barrier that the hungry ghosts could not cross.

The chill the revenants emanated was enough to freeze water, but thanks to Arista's Chill Banishing Draft, the SR's could shrug it off for a time. Mel, being a ghostwalker, was immune to the chill the undead radiated. She sprang at the Ghost Master, touching him with her spectral hands, trying to pinpoint where the curse was located in the spirit realm and how she could break it.

At her touch, Wrackspur screamed and shouted another spell, the infamous Spirit Wrack.

Yellow lightning exploded from his wand, slamming into Mel with a crackle.

It hurt, hurt a lot, but Mel was not a true ghost, and thus the spell did not have the same debilitating effect on her as it would have a true ghost.

She gritted her teeth and forced herself to concentrate through the pain._ Have to focus. Got to find the origin of the curse. It's here, somewhere in this tower._  
Pain stabbed her again, but she forced herself to ignore it, sending her magical senses outward, seeking the elusive thread of dark magic that Dirk Wrackspur had used to alter the curse.

While Mel struggled with the Ghost Master, Arista killed one revenant after another with the Blackstaff, the touch of the holy weapon sending the howling creatures back to the eternal night forever. The tip of the staff glowed with a luminescent silver light, burning when it struck.

The revenants, red eyes searing with hate and the hunger to slay the living, soon learned to be wary of the auburn-haired witch with the glowing staff, and they retreated to seek easier prey.

Five of them swarmed over Drake, but the Slytherin wizard slipped away, moving swifter than the revenants due to the Snakeswift Potion coursing through his veins. Then he spun around and stabbed the lead revenant, a monstrosity with bat wings and six-inch claws and a mouth that was all teeth, in the stomach with his silver dagger.

The revenant screeched, its unholy yell echoing off the walls, for Drake's dagger was also coated with holy water, and left a smoking hole in the spirit that did not heal.

Another specter reached for Drake, trying to drain his life essence with its foul touch, but the Excelsior Potion prevented the specter from gaining hold of the boy. Drake twisted away, unharmed.

Arista, seeing him trying to fend off more than one opponent, raced across the room towards him, knocking aside revenants with the Blackstaff like ninepins. She spun the staff in a spiral strike that took out two of the revenants attacking Lockwood, then jabbed another coming up from behind her with a reverse thrust. She was quick and deadly, allowing all those endless hours of training with Colin to take over her conscious mind, turning her into a whirlwind of deadly force. Panting, she halted beside Drake, staff held in a defensive block.

Fade bayed and sprang at Kit, who fended the hound off with his rapier, recalling moves out of desperation he hadn't even remembered he knew. The silver sword cut neat slashes in the dog's black hide, making the big animal draw away, yelping at the sting of the blessed metal.

Catching sight of the skirmish out of the corner of his eye, Drake grinned and called, "Nice one, Kit! Teach that mangy mutt a lesson!" Then he spun around to thrust at another specter.

Sensing the tide of battle was turning, and not in his favor, Wrackspur decided to summon up help. "Accio Inferi!" he yelled.

There was a brilliant flash of light, and the SR's were temporarily blinded.

When they could see again, blinking tears from their eyes, twelve Inferi were now in the room. Unlike their spectral counterparts, Inferi were partially solid, bound partially to their corporal body, and they could inflict real damage.

"Damn! He's called up the cavalry, Drake!" Arista swore, backing swiftly towards where Kit was standing. "We're in trouble now."

"Like we weren't before?" Drake quipped, his face pale and scared beneath his shock of dark hair. "Mel better hurry!" They had almost reached Kit. "Ambrosius! Got our back?"

"On it, Drake!" Kit snapped, slashing a revenant to ribbons in three moves. Then he moved to set his back against Arista's and Drake's, forming a triangle of silver and black oak. "Who said they could crash this little party?" he demanded, as the Inferi came for them, the stench of the grave washing over them in a sickening wave.

Mel was aware of her friends' peril on the periphery of her mind, but most of her mind was focused on locating the curse, and she raced through the misty gray realm of the spirit world on silent feet. She knew the Ghost Master was growing desperate, but this was the one place he could not follow.

Beneath her feet was a phantom replica of the Tower, she raced up a flight of hundreds of steps effortlessly arriving at the top of the Bloody Tower. A door barred with iron blocked her way, but she phased right through it, only to be confronted with a maze of more corridors._ Aww, bloody hell! Now what? I hate mazes_. She concentrated, trying to feel the curse and was rewarded with a trickle of dark energy coming from the left hand side.

She glided swiftly down that path.

* * * * * *

Wrackspur was now on his feet, furious and looking to punish someone. His gold eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the three teenagers huddled in a triangle, armed with holy weapons. "Those won't save you from me, kiddies! How about a taste of hellfire?" he laughed, then pointed his wand and shouted, "Inferio!"

Fire shot from his wand in a destructive swath, rolling over Kit, Drake, and Arista.

Wrackspur tilted his head, waiting for the screams of agony. But there were none.

The fire died impossibly fast, and to his outrage, the three teenagers were unharmed, the Fireproof Potion outlining them in a golden glow. He swore softly, and gestured for the revenants to move in.

"Leave them alone, you devil's bastard!" shrieked little Richard, swooping down on the Ghost Master to pummel the man about the head with insubstantial fists.

Wrackspur put up a hand to ward off the ghost boy's blows, even though they didn't do any harm. "You DARE attack your master?" he howled.

"You're no master of mine!" Richard shouted back.

"Am I not?" Wrackspur snarled, a crazed gleam coming into his eyes. He stabbed the tip of his wand into Richard's arm and began to draw the ghost child's energy into it. His wand glowed a sickly green, and Richard screeched, trying to get away.

"Get away from my brother, spawn of Satan!" Edward cried, coming down to defend his brother. His little hands tried to grab the Ghost Master's wand, but they slipped right through it.

Wrackspur snickered and continued to draw energy from Richard. "Who's the Master now, impudent brat?"

Richard whimpered as his essence was stolen from him, tears pouring down his cheeks.

But the Ghost Master had made a grave mistake.

In the spirit Tower, Mel had been unsure exactly where to go, the black aura of the curse muted by the Inferi and the other revenants. But now, as the Ghost Master called on the curse to drain Richard, it flared up like a firework, all dark purple and saturated with centuries of evil. Mel soared up to the ceiling of the Bloody Tower, slipping through the corridors at the speed of thought.

There, at the top of the tower!

She phased through the door and came face to face with the dark pulsing ball of the centuries old curse.

A ribbon of dark purple energy snaked from it and wound off through the opposite wall, and Mel sensed that this was the Ghost Master's connection.

The ghostwalker set her jaw and drew a silver paring knife from her pocket, though in this realm it was not solid, but a streak of light. Then she knelt and began to cut at the strand of dark purple energy.

At the first touch of the knife, the strand withered and turned black, sparks shooting up from it.

Mel sawed harder.

The strand was halfway severed.

The knife in her hand was worn to a sliver.

She continued to cut, wrinkling her nose at the stench of brimstone that accompanied her severing of the Ghost Master's bond.

But at last the strand was broken and it vanished.

She could hear the Ghost Master's scream of horror echo through the spirit world as his twisted binding was undone.

Then she turned to the shadowy ball of the curse, which had shrunk now that it was not being manipulated. "Truth, hope, and courage conquers lies, despair, and cowardice!" she cried. "The power of a ghostwalker bridges the living and the dead and I bid you be GONE! The curse is broken!" She tossed the tiny sliver of her paring knife into the clot of shadow and with it the full force of her power.

The curse disintegrated, the shadow swallowed by the white heat of her power.

Rainbowed light danced through the room and the shadows that had clung to the Tower were banished forever.

Mel threw back her head and laughed. "Take that, Ghost Master!"

* * * * * *

With the breaking of the curse, Wrackspur's power over the undead was broken as well. The revenants and the Inferi realized this a split second before the Tower ghosts, and they turned away from the SR's and converged upon the Ghost Master with a vengeance.

"Back! Keep back from me, I command you!" he babbled desperately, his wand shooting little blue sparks as he attempted to defend himself.

The Inferi were not amused.

Then he turned and fled from the White Tower, the Inferi in hot pursuit, along with half of the revenants.

The other half, drawn by the pulsing hearts of the living, remained, drooling hungrily at the four wizards.

"Uh, Mel! This bunch didn't get the message!" Kit yelled as one flew at him, hissing.

Mel reappeared in the room in a cloud of rainbow sparkles.

"STOP!" she bellowed.

The revenants froze.

"The curse is broken and so is your suffering. Now rest in peace! You're free!"

The revenants gave a collective sigh. Then one and all, they bowed to the ghostwalker and vanished, freed at long last of their imprisonment.

Arista lowered her staff, looked at Mel and said, "That's telling them, Mel!"

Something black sprang out of the shadows behind the door at her.

Drake saw it move, impossibly quick, and he shoved Arista out of the way, knocking her on the ground, the Snakeswift enabling him to react a split second faster than the fell hound.

The full weight of the beast slammed down on him, crushing him into the floor. He managed to get his arm with his misericord up in time to protect his throat, but that was all.

Fade's jaws closed on his arm, biting down hard.

The Excelsior blunted the full force of the fell hound's bite, preventing Drake's arm from being severed.

But it could not prevent the hound's wickedly sharp teeth from breaking the skin.

Fade's fangs with their deadly venom closed on the dagger and part of Drake's arm, and despite the terrible burning from the silver weapon, the fell hound would not release his grip.

Drake screamed, trying to throw the clinging beast off him.

"What? Lockwood!" Kit yelled, stabbing the dog in the side.

But Fade was lost in bloodlust and barely felt the rapier pierce his hide.

Arista rolled to her feet, Drake's agony reverberating through her like liquid fire.

"DRAKE! NO!" she screamed, and then she blasted the fell hound with the full force of her empathic gift, hitting the demon dog with all the rage and hatred she possessed.

It slammed into Fade like a tornado, stunning the big beast so that it released Drake and sagged sideways across him.

Furious, Arista lifted the Blackstaff and brought it down on the fell hound's head. "Get OFF him! Get OFF!" she howled, kicking the dazed hound away from the stricken wizard, who lay still on the floor, his right arm a bloody mess.

White fury consumed her, and she brought the staff down again and again, the silver tip glowing as it struck the fell hound's cursed flesh.

Fade died soon after, but it was only after Trish dared to grab Arista's shoulder that she stopped pummeling the dead hound.

"Arista! Enough! It's dead!"

Trish's voice, sharp with fear, penetrated the hazy red mist surrounding Arista, and the empath came back to herself with a start. She blinked, staring down at the hound's body with a grimace of distaste. Then she turned away, the Blackstaff falling from her hands.

"Drake," she whispered, still feeling his pain through the soulbond.

She knelt down beside him, her hands etched with white healing fire. She set a hand on his arm, her healing gift already analyzing the damage. The initial wound was bad, but nothing she couldn't mend easily, it was only torn muscle and tendons.

The poison, though . . .that was not so easily defeated.

She could tell in two heartbeats that the venom would need antidotes from her father's stores, things which she did not possess here. The best she could do was to halt the spread of the poison through Lockwood's body for now, until she could get back to Spinner's End. That and block the worst of the pain from him.

She touched his mind gently, sending him into a sleep so deep it was nearly a coma. _Sleep, Drake. Sleep and dream._  
That done, she slipped blocks of white fire into place, preventing the creeping red tendrils of venom from advancing any further through his bloodstream. Then she withdrew, the white fire dying.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Kit asked worriedly. "I tried to get the damn thing off him, I really did."

Arista looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. "It's not your fault, Kit. But I need to get him home, I can't fight the poison here. He needs antidotes from my dad's lab."

She stood up, rubbing her head, which had begun to throb ferociously.

Behind her, she could see the Tower ghosts clustered about Mel, thanking the ghostwalker for freeing them from the curse.

"We owe you more than we can ever repay, Mistress Seton," Anne was saying. "You are a true daughter of Britain." She swept Mel a curtsy that touched the floor. "You have my eternal gratitude." Then she was gone.

"Free!" Cat laughed joyously, spinning in a circle. "We are free at last!" She too curtseyed to Mel. "Now at last I can rest." Beaming, she faded away.

Margaret Pole embraced her, smiling. "Fare you well, child, you and all your friends." She waved to them all, then vanished.

Becket smiled and bowed to her. "May God's grace be upon you and yours, my lady." Then he too vanished.

Raleigh gave her a rakish smile and an elegant bow. "Well, milady, I can't say it wasn't interesting. But I think I'm ready for Heaven. I just hope Heaven is ready for me!" He gave her a saucy wink and disappeared.

The princes were the last to leave. They threw their arms about Mel and hugged her, grinning. "Goodbye, Mel! We'll miss you. Thank you for setting us free! Now we can be with our parents again," said Edward.

"And Uncle Richard and Aunt Ann too!" his brother reminded him. He waved at the other wizards. "Thanks Arista, Kit, Trish, and Drake!" He bowed to them, then he grabbed Edward's hand and the two faded to mist and were gone, walking to their final reward at long last.

The bells in the tower struck one-thirty.

The SR's exchanged glances of mutual exhaustion and worry. Then Kit bent and picked up Drake's comatose form. "C'mon, let's get out of here before some Muggle comes to investigate."

The quickly hurried down the stairs and out of the Tower, mounting their brooms and soaring away into the night.

The Tower of London sat serenely in the moonlight behind them, the darkness that had once inhabited it gone forever. It was now merely a historical museum, no longer the most haunted building in Britain, thanks to the return of a ghostwalker and her friends.

* * * * * *

While Arista and Trish worked frantically down in Severus's lab brewing an antidote made from phoenix tears in hopes that it could counteract the poison, Mel watched Drake, who was lying on the couch, moaning softly. Sweat beaded his brow, and she gently blotted it away with a towel Kit handed her.

"He doesn't look so good," Kit said, frowning down at his friend worriedly.

"Arista will make him better," Mel said quietly.

"I hope so," he sighed. "But this fell hound venom's bad."

"Quit being so negative, Ambrosius," Mel ordered.

"I'm not, I'm just stating a fact."

"Well, take your facts and go and fix yourself something to eat, I can hear your stomach growling from here."

He flashed her a sheepish grin. "Yeah, kicking revenants' ghostly arses always makes me hungry. Be right back. You want anything?"

She shrugged. "You can make me a sandwich, if you want."

Kit went into the kitchen to rummage around in the refrigerator, which was usually kept well stocked. A small wooden sign next to it read** Welcome to my kitchen—you'll eat it and like it.** He smiled at that, it was a typical Snape saying. _That's for damn sure, Professor. You cook better than my mum. _He opened the fridge and pulled out the fixings for a large roast beef, ham, cheese, lettuce, and tomato sub sandwich.

He made enough for Arista and Trish as well, reasoning they'd probably be hungry too once they finished brewing up antidotes. He left theirs on the kitchen table, and took his and Mel's back into the den along with two bottles of butterbeer.

Drake was the same as when he'd left, flushed with fever and tossing slightly. Mel had dampened the towel and laid it across his forehead. "Bloody demon dog," Kit muttered angrily. "I ought've killed it when I had the chance. Then this would've never happened."

"No sense in blaming yourself, Kit. Fact is, we're lucky more of us didn't get hurt, the way things were going. It could've been a lot worse."

Kit shrugged, then handed her one of the sandwiches, seating himself on the floor by her feet and biting into his own. "I really hope Arista can heal him. You think maybe we should've taken him to St. Mungo's?"

Mel shook her head. "Arista's as good a Healer as any they've got there. She'll fix him up, wait and see."

"She sure tore into that demon dog something fierce. I've never seen her lose it like that before. The way she just attacked the damn thing . . .did you see the look in her eyes? It was damn scary. I mean, I always knew she had the Snape temper, but not like that."

"I know. But it doesn't surprise me, considering she's in love with Lockwood."

Kit choked. "She's what?"

Mel pounded him on the back. "Oh, come on, Kit! Are you blind? Don't tell me you never saw that coming. She's been in love with him since she came back from America with him last summer, and maybe even before that."

"Well, sure, I knew she liked him," he sputtered, blushing slightly. "And he's always had a thing for her, even though he's too shy to ever admit it. But real love . . .it's that serious?"

Mel chuckled. "Trust me, you don't flip out like that unless you really love a guy and are scared to death he's gonna die."

"Yeah?" Kit arched an eyebrow. "Does that mean you'd flip out like that if I was gonna die, Mel?"

"Well, Kit, that would depend."

"On what?"

"On whether I really loved you, you big twit," she answered, hiding a smile.

His hazel eyes gleamed. "Better make up your mind, Seton."

"Why? You in a hurry to find someone else, Ambrosius?"

"Maybe." His tone was pure challenge.

"You'd never get anyone else as good," she stated softly.

"Think so?"

"I know so," she replied, then she kissed him.

His arms came round her and he pulled her off the couch and onto his lap. Only then did he lift his head and say. "Guess you know what you're talking about, Mel." Then he kissed her back.

When they parted, both of them were breathless. "Took you long enough, Kit."

"But I was worth the wait," he drawled, smirking.

"Maybe," she shot back.

"Name one guy that kisses better than me."

"I can't," she admitted softly. "Because you're the first one."

"First and last, Melinda Seton."

"Really? You think I'm gonna fall into your arms over one kiss, Ambrosius?"

"Don't look now, but you just did," he pointed out, laughing.

She socked him lightly in the shoulder. "I don't know why I put up with you, you smug twit."

He gave her one of his most engaging grins. "'Cause you love me?"

She smiled back at him. "You're right, for once. I do love you."

"As much as Arista loves Drake?"

"Well . . .I don't know about that," she teased, biting into her sandwich. "Maybe as much as I love this sandwich."

He rolled his eyes.

"Maybe as much as I love shopping."

"That's a start." He leaned his head back on her knee and resumed eating his sandwich.

"Okay. If some dark wizard nearly killed you, I'd go totally nuts on his arse and kick him all the way to hell. Is that what you wanted to hear, mister?"

He smiled slowly. "Actually, yeah. That's exactly what I wanted to hear." His hand crept up and clasped hers.

That was how Arista and Trish found them when they returned from the lab with the newly brewed antidote made from phoenix tears, dittany, and holy water.

* * * * * *

After Arista had administered the antidote, Drake seemed to rally, his color returned to normal, his fever broke, and he slid into a normal sleep, his breathing even and deep. By then it was three in the morning and everyone except Arista was practically asleep on their feet.

"Why don't you guys all go to sleep? I'm going to stay up a bit longer to make sure Drake's okay," she told them.

"The antidote worked, right?" Kit asked, amid a jaw-cracking yawn. "He's going to be all right now?"

"He should be. The phoenix tears neutralized the venom pretty quickly, as near as my healing sense can tell. All he needs now is rest, lots of it, and plenty of liquids when he wakes up." She gazed down at the sleeping Lockwood tenderly, brushing a strand of dark hair away from his face.

"You sure you're going to be all right?" Trish asked, darting a concerned look at her foster sister.

"Positive," Arista answered, giving Trish a false smile. The truth was, she was exhausted, but she knew she would not be able to rest unless she was near Drake. "Go, get to bed, all of you," she waved them off, settling herself in the recliner.

"Yes, Mother," Kit teased, then obeyed, springing up the stairs two at a time. He would sleep on the cushioned sleeping bag on the floor of the girls' bedroom, gallantly allowing Mel to sleep in Arista's bed.

After her friends had departed, Arista rose and placed a hand on Drake's forehead, running an unnecessary check on him with her healing touch. He was still deeply asleep, but the prognosis was good. With plenty of rest and liquids he would make a full recovery.

But it had been a near thing. No one but Arista knew how close she had come to losing Drake that night. _If I had been a second slower in getting to him, or in brewing up that phoenix tear cure . . _.she shivered suddenly._ I couldn't bear to live in a world without you, Drake. You are the other half of me._  
She bent and kissed him gently. "I love you, Drake. As my dad always said about my mom, you're the very best thing in my life."

Almost as if he had heard her, Drake smiled in his sleep.

Arista returned to the recliner, content to watch over her sleeping boyfriend. Comfrey appeared and jumped up on the couch, settling herself on Drake's feet, purring softly. The girl smiled at the gray cat. "You're keeping watch too, huh?" The gray cat winked at her and her purr deepened in answer.

The soft click of toenails on the hardwood floor announced Scout's arrival.

The great golden hound came into the den, paused to sniff Drake gently, then stretched out in front of the recliner, relaxed and alert at the same time.

Arista reached down and tickled her dog's ear, drawing comfort from her animals. "Okay. We'll all keep watch together," she murmured.

So they did, until Arista fell asleep somewhere around four-thirty, unable to keep awake any longer.

**Hope you all liked the battle. Next up, Arista goes to hunt Wrackspur alone, with Scout to track!**


	6. Arista Unleashed

**Arista Unleashed**

**Arista goes head to head with Wrackspur. Severus returns next chapter!**

Arista awoke with a gasp, Dirk Wrackspur's mocking laughter still echoing in her ears. For one moment she was disorientated, not knowing where she was. Then she rubbed her eyes and woke fully, brushing away the last tendrils of the disturbing nightmare she'd had. Get a grip, Snape, it was only a dream, she ordered herself crossly. She was no Seer, to foretell in dreams, but the few other times she had dreamed, it had been important. She knew that dreams were her mind's way of reminding her of something, something she had either forgotten or hadn't thought about.

This particular dream had her chasing after Dirk Wrackspur, or being chased by him. He had been smirking at her, mocking her because she had been upset over Drake's poisoning by his evil dog. "No one who meets the Ghost Master comes away unscathed, girl!" he'd cackled, his gold eyes gleaming in triumph. "You might have won a battle, but I and mine shall win the war, little Healer. The Dark Lord's hour is coming, and we will crush all of you pathetic witches and wizards like dirt beneath our boots. No one shall be safe . . .no one! You will either submit or be destroyed."

His last words echoed in her head, over and over.

_Submit or be destroyed._

She knew that was what the followers of Lord Voldemort believed, believed to be the simple truth. Their faith in their Dark Lord was absolute. He was like unto a god. To Arista, however, he was the enemy that must be vanquished, a criminal that needed to be hunted down and killed like the murderer he was.

Like all of his followers.

_No one shall be safe . . .No one . . ._

The words struck a deep chord of unease within her. They were safe enough now, shielded behind the wardstone the professor had spelled, she knew that beyond the shadow of a doubt. But for how long? How long before the Ghost Master went back to his master and reported his failure, if he ever did? How long before Voldy learned that a ghostwalker now existed and her identity?

She imagined Death eaters descending upon Mel's house to steal her away, so Voldy could use her for his own twisted ends, or worse, kill her so she could not challenge his supposed mastery over death. He would definitely not take it well that a mere teenage girl had power he could never have.

_No one is safe . . .you will either submit or be destroyed._

Then too, there was Drake, her beloved, who'd been injured and nearly killed trying to protect her from the Ghost Master's familiar. Rage still burned the back of her throat like acid whenever she recalled that moment. Drake shoving her on the floor, taking the bite meant for her . . .writhing in agony as the poison entered his system . . .she had felt everything through the link she shared with him.

_It's not over yet, _she realized with a dull ache. I_ killed the dog but his master still lives. And if he talks, if he tells Voldemort what he knows, no one will be safe again_.

Wrackspur had to be stopped, hunted down and caught before he relayed anything to his master. If he had survived the wrath of the Inferi, and she could not help but think he had, he would be holed up somewhere, trying to summon up enough courage to report to the Dark Lord that he had failed. He was vulnerable now, he could be caught if one was clever enough and quick enough.

She glanced at the sleeping magehound by her feet. Scout was the best magehound the Dark Hunters had ever bred, he was a legend, the dog that always got his quarry, no matter how long the trail. Back in America, they had called him a necromancer's worst nightmare. He had proved that was still true last summer, when he had tracked the seven dragonslayers to their hidden lair beneath St. Helen's.

Now she would ask him to prove it once again.

This time their quarry would be the Ghost Master, who hopefully would not prove as difficult to find.

_It has to be now, while the trail's still fresh. Wait any longer and it might be too late. Dad mentioned once that Voldy can track his followers through the Dark Mark, and God only knows when he'll contact Wrackspur. I can't wait for Dad to get back, even though I know I should. _  
She thought about waking up her friends, but just as soon dismissed that idea as well. None of them were Hunter trained, and she could not bear it if they were hurt the way Drake had been. _Get your quarry with a minimum of casualties_ was an old Hunter motto. She was the best one for this mission, she had been trained to apprehend criminals by two of the best Dark Hunters on the force. True, it had been over two years since she'd put into practice what she had learned, but she had not forgotten her lessons.

She rose to her feet and padded silently into the kitchen, throwing food into a pack she summoned with a snap of her fingers. A small emergency kit of potions and healing salve went inside the bag too, as did a black cord of constrictor rope, something she'd saved from her days as a Hunter apprentice. It would serve to bind the criminal.

It was not quite as good as Null Magic cuffs, which were a Hunter's best friend, since they could neutralize a wizard's magic once they were on and were nearly impossible to remove, but the rope was better than nothing. And Wrackspur was a wand wizard, and once disarmed he was helpless. That was yet another advantage she had over him, for she'd been raised in the American tradition, and could perform spells without a wand.

She returned to the den to snatch up a piece of parchment from Snape's desk and scribble a note for her friends so they wouldn't wonder where she'd gone. Hopefully, she would be gone only a day at most, maybe two, and back before Severus came home and discovered what she'd been up to.

She winced just imagining his reaction if he ever found she'd gone hunting a dark wizard on her own with only Scout for protection. She knew she was breaking every rule he'd ever set for her by doing this. _He'd have my head on a platter, no doubt. I'd be under house arrest for the rest of my life, probably_.

Then she heaved a sigh. _It can't be helped. I'm the one who has to do this. Sorry, Dad, but this is one time where breaking al the rules is necessary._

She walked back over to the coffee table and placed the note where she was sure they would see it.

Her foot struck the Blackstaff, which Mel had used a Scourgify charm to clean after they'd arrived home. She eyed the staff thoughtfully. Then she picked it up. Insurance. You never know when you might need a good weapon.

"Scout," she called, her voice barely above a whisper.

The magehound woke instantly. His tail thumped the floor and his intelligent blue eyes stared at her in eagerness.

"I need your help, boy. I need you to find someone for me, okay?"

The magehound understood and rose to his feet, whining softly in the back of his throat.

Arista rested a hand on the dog's head, linking them with her empathy the way she had back in Washington State, so she did not need to worry about keeping up with the dog once he had found the Ghost Master's trail. The dog's eagerness to hunt made her quiver all over. This was what he had been bred and trained to do, it was what he lived for.

"Come on, Scout. Let's go and find us a criminal," Arista whispered, then she slung her pack over her shoulder, tucked the Blackstaff under an arm, and holding Scout's collar firmly, stepped into the fireplace, a pinch of Floo powder in her hand.

"The Tower of London," she said clearly, then tossed down the powder.

Green light swirled about her, then she and the magehound vanished.

* * * * * *  
Arista peered about cautiously before stepping out of the fireplace with Scout. The room was dusty with disuse, probably no one had been here in months, maybe even years. She hadn't been entirely certain where the Floor Network would take her, but she'd reasoned it would have to be somewhere in the Tower where Muggles wouldn't be able to see people stepping out of green lights from thin air.

The magehound shook his floppy ears and sneezed. Clouds of dust billowed up from the floor as they walked across it. Arista felt her own eyes water and her nose twitch in sympathy. You'd think they'd have put a spell here to keep the dust away, she thought at the dog, muffling a belated sneeze in her sleeve.

Scout whuffed in agreement and she stroked his head.

The room was bare save for a rickety old settle and a chair that looked like moths had gotten at the upholstery. Arista assumed it must be a storage room of some kind, albeit an unused one, judging from the amount of dust coating everything. She peered over her shoulder, wondering if she should bother to erase the evidence of her footprints and Scout's.

To her astonishment, she saw the dust had covered over any sign of her tracks and the magehound's._ I get it now! It's a concealment spell! And a really good one too, I never would have thought of using dust that way. Clever, whoever thought of it._

Now all she had to do was figure out where in the Tower she was. Luckily, she'd bought a map of the interior of the entire castle the first day she'd visited here. It was too bad none of the ghosts were still around, they could have helped her find her way and scared off any passing Muggle security guards. Then she chided herself for being selfish, for the ghosts had earned their final rest after so many centuries.

Luckily, she'd packed a Chameleon Potion in her potions kit before coming here, she thought, and withdrew the small green bottle from her pack. She swallowed a scant mouthful of the sweet minty flavored potion and let Scout lick some off of her finger too. The good thing about the Chameleon Potion was that a little of it went a long way. She recapped the bottle and placed it carefully back in her pack.

Now if any Muggles happened to look her way, she and the dog could fade into the background, "disappearing" from view, so to speak. She opened the door and poked her head around the doorframe.

No one was in sight, the hallway was empty.

She pulled the map of the Tower out from her pocket and opened it. Then she began to walk down the hallway, Scout pacing by her side. Soon she came to a sign with an arrow that read To the White Tower, go one set of stairs down and to the right.

"Oh good! Now I know where we are," she exclaimed, then opened the door leading to the stairwell.

In mere moments, she found herself standing in the antechamber of the White Tower once more. The room looked so ordinary, not as if it had been the site of a terrific battle mere hours ago. The only sign that there had been anything amiss was a chair that had been knocked over and an odd black splotch upon the floor where the fell hound's body had been. Apparently, hell had reclaimed its demon, she thought in revulsion.

She searched the room for some sign of Dirk Wrackspur, but could find nothing of the sorcerer lying about. She nearly wept in frustration. Then she recalled something one of the Hunters at the magehound exhibition had said during the seminar she had attended. "The best magehounds can track a criminal without needing a starter, like a scrap of cloth or a hair. They can detect traces of dark magic in the air and follow the scent back to wherever the criminal is, since necromancy leaves a taint upon your person that no amount of scrubbing or concealment spells can erase."

Scout was one of the best trackers ever, and there had only been one user of dark magic in this room. Arista had confidence he could locate the trail easily. "Scout, search!" she ordered, giving him the command he'd been waiting for.

The dog immediately dropped his head and sniffed the floor. He walked in a slow circle, his nostrils inhaling the myriad scents in the room. He could smell the scents of Arista and her four friends and one other. It was that one that made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle and a low growl emerge from deep in his throat.

_Evil. The dark taint is strong upon this one. He fled, but I can find him again, Arista. Evil has marked him for its own. _  
Scout threw back his head and bayed, the high wild call of a magehound that has struck the trail of a necromancer.

"Scout! Be quiet!" Arista cried, too late. She had forgotten that a magehound always gave an initial bay before setting forth on a hunt.

The dog bounded over to the door, then turned and looked back at her expectantly.

Arista followed, opening the door and the dog sprang out of it, running silently now, as was his wont.

Luckily, the night shift in the Tower had checked out the White Tower previously, so no guard came to investigate why a dog was heard barking at four thirty in the morning. Enough odd things had been happening in the Tower of late to make the guards wary of investigating every little noise.

Thus it was that no one noticed the magehound running down the stairs, nor the girl following him.

Once outside the Tower, Scout halted, for it was more difficult to pick up the scent here, mixed up as it was with the odors of cars and exhaust, other people and animals, even food from a nearby restaurant. The magehound cast about for about five minutes before picking up the scent once again and trotting across the street and into what appeared to be a blind alley.

But when Arista tapped on the bricks at the end of it, the wall folded up, revealing a secret passage into the wizarding world in London. Scout bolted through without hesitation and after a brief moment, his mistress followed.

Arista didn't recognize this part of the wizard side of London, it was dark and dingy, not the sort of place she or her friends would ever be permitted to roam around in. The buildings here were close and shabby, with paint peeling off of them, and graffiti scrawled over every available inch of space.

Arista looked about, she had the uneasy feeling she was being watched, though the street was empty and so too were the buildings on either side of it. Scout ran on, heedless of his surroundings, intent only upon finding his quarry. He would not worry about such things as being observed by anyone, unless they impeded his hunt.

The dog trotted to the end of the street, then went left without hesitation.

Now they were on a lane that wound crookedly about a series of shops that were boarded up, bearing vacant signs in the windows. Clearly their owners had moved on long ago to better pastures. The wind blew through a group of trees standing lone sentry at the end of the block, making the branches rattle sinisterly.

Scout whuffed softly, this place bore an aura of darkness too, but not so much so that he couldn't locate the quarry. He halted at the end of the twisty street, pawing at the brick wall. Once more Arista performed her sequence of taps and the wall unfolded, revealing the Muggle side of the city again.

* * * * * *  
They tracked Wrackspur for over six hours, retracing the desperate wizard's flight from the Tower. Arista wondered how he managed to banish the Inferi, then supposed that an experienced necromancer like Wrackspur could manage to perform a banishing charm when pressed to do so. It appeared he was as afraid of discovery by his dark master as by Aurors, for his flight was erratic, he never stayed in one place for long. Just when Arista hoped they'd found the place where he'd holed up, it turned out to be another dead end.

Scout never seemed to get discouraged however, and she drew strength from the dog's relentless drive. She'd managed to snatch an hour or two of much needed sleep on a park bench while the dog stood guard over her, this was before many Muggles had awakened. The nap had revitalized her and after eating a sandwich purchased from a vendor, she felt ready for anything.

By then it was late morning and people were out and about, making it necessary for her and Scout to resort to the Chameleon Potion again. Not that the Muggles would have seen anything unusual in a girl out walking her dog, but Arista was taking no chances.

The trail wound back from Whitechapel into the wizarding district once more. Blazes, but this guy's slipperier than an eel, she thought as she popped back into yet another section of wizard London. This time there were fewer buildings, and a large grassy verge with several trees and statues, similar to Hyde Park.

Scout raced ahead of her now, no longer keeping pace sedately by her side the way he'd done on the sidewalks and crosswalks of the city. Now in this open space he could run, and run he did, with the tireless strides of a magehound who knows his quarry is nearby.

She could feel the dog's utter certainty that the one he pursued was close, very close. Arista's pulse quickened, and she began to run as well. If Scout was correct, they were ahead of her proposed timetable by several hours, all to the good. She wanted Wrackspur found and brought in as quickly as possible.

They broke out of the grassy park soon enough, and now they ran down a small dirt track that led to a small stone cottage, an utterly prepossessing dwelling, that appeared the kind of place you'd find an old woman rocking on the porch and a cat or two sunning themselves on the walk. It could not look less like the place where a desperate criminal would hide out.

Yet Scout trotted into the yard and sat down, indicating to Arista that the one they'd been seeking was indeed here. She knelt and scratched the hound's floppy ears, praising him softly. Scout's tail wagged and he grinned happily.

Then Arista slipped off the straps of her pack and took out her staff and potions case. She quickly swallowed a Fireproof Potion and an Excelsior one, and removed the constrictor rope and wrapped it about her waist. Satisfied she was as prepared as she could get, the young magician started up the small walk towards the cottage.

* * * * * *  
"Gone? What do you mean, she's _gone_?" Mel cried glaring accusingly at Kit as if it were somehow his fault.

"Read it," he pushed the note across the coffee table. "I found it sitting here when I came downstairs." Kit said while Mel scanned the note Arista had left. "She took Scout and the Blackstaff with her too, so I guess she means business."

"Brilliant deduction there, Ambrosius! This is Arista, she always means business." Mel snapped. "I don't believe this! How could she just go running off and not tell us?"

"Well, she _did _tell us, in her note," Kit pointed out helpfully.

Mel growled a nasty word under her breath.

"What's going on?" Trish asked, her hair tousled from sleep, coming downstairs.

"Arista's gone running off to play Dark Hunter, that's what's wrong!" Mel informed her testily.

"She's _what_?" Trish repeated dumbly, her mouth hanging open.

"Here, read it for yourself."

Trish scanned the letter rapidly. "Blast and damn! She took Scout, but not one of us? Why would she think it's better to go alone? We're her best friends, for crying out loud! We work best as a team."

"Because she's trying to protect us," Drake answered, opening his eyes and sitting up on the couch. He was pale but his gray eyes were alert.

"Drake!" Mel exclaimed. "You've woken up! How do you feel?"

He grimaced. "Thirsty."

Trish conjured him a large glass of ice water. "Here. You need to drink that all. Arista says you'll need plenty of liquids, the fell hound venom dehydrated you."

Drake took the glass and drank it down thirstily. He had no argument with Arista's diagnosis, his mouth felt as parched as the Sahara. Trish handed him a second glass of water, which he sipped at before saying, "She didn't leave us out because she doesn't trust us, Trish. She did it so we wouldn't get killed. See, that's a good Hunter's priority, protecting the ones she cares about."

"Great! Just great! And while she's off hunting down Wrackspur, we're just going to sit around twiddling our thumbs?" Mel demanded.

Kit slanted her a wry look. "You got a better idea?"

"No." Mel groaned and threw herself into the recliner. "I know we'll never be able to find her now, not if she's got Scout to track for her."

"We've got Libby," Kit reminded her, indicating Drake's half-grown puppy asleep in front of the fire.

"Libby's too young to track like Scout," Drake shook his head. "She hasn't been properly trained yet."

"Scratch that then," Kit sighed.

"We've got another problem too. If Arista doesn't return in a day or so, who's gonna be the one to break the news to Severus?" Trish asked softly.

They all looked at each other.

"It ain't going to be _me,_ girlfriend," Mel said firmly. "No way do I want Snape snarked off with me." her eyes slid over to Kit. "Well, Ambrosius? You're a Gryffindor. You brave enough to take on Snape in a temper?"

Kit gulped. "Do I have to answer that?" Mel gave him a don't-be-such-a-baby look. "Right. Uh, normally, the professor's temper doesn't scare me . . .much. But this time . . .he's going to be madder than a Hungarian Horntail who's just gotten her nest robbed. And I'd prefer to still be in one piece when I graduate." He looked at Trish speculatively. "What about _you_, Trish? You're his foster daughter, you ought to be able to handle him all right."

"Please. As it is, I'm already going to be grounded till I graduate probably, for the Tower incident, never mind telling him about Arista. Have mercy, Kit."

"I've got it!" Kit snapped his fingers. "It's brilliant. _You'll_ tell him, Drake. You're a Slytherin and he likes you, he'll be less likely to throttle you."

"Kit!" Mel scolded. "You can't ask Drake to do that! He's still sick from the poison, he's not up to it."

"That's why it's brilliant. Snape'll take one look at him and take pity on him, especially once Drake tells him how he got hurt defending Arista."

Mel bit her lip, unsure.

Drake coughed, drank some more water, then said, "Fine. I'll do it. I've faced worse. Like angry bronze dragons, insane wizards, demon dogs, what's one pissed off Potions Master to them, right?"

"You trying to convince us or yourself, Lockwood?" Kit queried.

Drake grinned ruefully. "Honestly, I don't know."

"We can always pray for a miracle," Trish said, trying to be optimistic.

"Start praying then," Kit ordered.

* * * * * *  
Arista approached the cottage warily, having no idea whether or not the place had been warded against trespassers. Scout padded beside her, the fur on the back of his neck bristling, his lips wrinkled back in a silent snarl._ He's in there, I can smell him, t_he dog growled in Arista's head, her empathic link translating the dog's emotions into words. _Trapped like a rat in a cage. Be careful, rats have a nasty bite. _She stroked his ears soothingly. "I will." The Blackstaff was in her hand and she took two deep breaths, centering herself the way she did when she sparred with Colin, back when she was still his apprentice. Then she reached out with her magical senses to detect if any spells had been placed upon the door.

She could feel a quiver in the magical lines of force that crisscrossed the land here, but that was all.

Still, just to be safe, she set the tip of the staff against the door instead of her hand.

Nothing happened.

She grasped the handle of the door and turned it. As she had figured, it was locked.

Now Arista knew several charms to unlock doors, she'd been schooled quite thoroughly in them by her Dark Hunter teachers, who often had to break into locked residences to get their suspects. She hesitated, considering whether or not to use one. Had the Ministry put the Trace on her, the way Trish assumed, or was she one of those who had escaped them, since she hadn't begun her schooling at Hogwarts at the same time as the other young wizards? Could the Ministry sense her use of magic without a wand?

Somehow, she doubted it. As far as she'd been able to determine, none of her friends or teachers had ever learned how to sense when she was about to cast a spell without a wand. She knew the Ministry kept tabs on the kind of wand each wizard used, so maybe that was how they could tell when an underage wizard used magic.

But Arista had left her wand at home.

She decided to risk it. This was a wizard's home, after all, and even if they did detect an unlocking charm being used, they might assume he'd cast it after being locked out of his own house.

She laid her palm on the lock and whispered, "Fastinus relaxio!" and sent a trickle of her power at the lock. The Fastinus charm was a great deal more powerful than your average Alohamora. The lock glowed a brilliant blue, turning hard as ice. Then it snapped.

She pushed open the door, making no more noise than a shadow. Probing once more with her magical senses, she discovered a ward set just before the threshold. But it was keyed to stop a dark practitioner, not one of the Light. Apparently, Wrackspur was more afraid of his Dark Lord than he was of Aurors.

She walked right through the ward along with Scout, pausing in the short entryway, which opened onto a small combination kitchen and den area. Seated in a chair turned partially towards a dimly lit fire was Wrackspur, still wearing his white robe and pants, apparently asleep.

She raised an eyebrow, unable to believe her luck. What were the chances that she would catch him unguarded like this? Beside her, Scout stiffened, his nose working. _Not real. There's no scent. It's a decoy._

Arista froze. Then she sent a tendril of her empathic talent out, trying to feel the emotions of the man seated in the chair. She touched nothing save empty air. Illusion. Where then was the Ghost Master?

An instant later she had her answer, as a voice cried, "_Inferio!"_

A fireball shot at her from out of the shadowed archway across from the entrance hall. "Scout, down!" she cried, and thrust out her hands, absorbing the fire and heat via the Fireproof Potion.

The magehound dropped to the ground instantly, avoiding the deadly tongues of flame, shielded by Arista's body.

But as soon as the fire died, the magehound was on his feet and leaping towards the white cloaked wizard, who had been foolish enough to show himself, thinking his spell had finished off the intruder.

Wrackspur barely had time to scream a Shield Charm before Scout nailed him, snarling terribly. The full weight of ninety-five pounds of angry magehound struck Wrackspur squarely, knocking him over, though the Shield Charm protected him from being bitten.

"Mangy mutt!" the Ghost Master gasped, struggling beneath the dog's weight, trying to bring his wand to bear. "_Cru_—oww!" he screeched as Arista brought the tip of the Blackstaff smashing down on his wrist. There was a sharp crack, and Wrackspur's hand went limp.

"Bloody harpy, you broke my damn wrist!" he cursed, his gold eyes glittering with impotent hatred.

Arista snatched the whitethorn wand from his hand, tucking it in her pocket. "That's what you get when you try to torture animals, Wrackspur!" she said coldly, then brought the staff back to rest in the hollow of his throat, right above his carotid artery.

His eyes widened in recognition. "You're one of the bloody brats from the Tower!" he spat. "You ruined everything, you little—"he snarled a string of profanity at her that was enough to make a Cheapside dockhand wince.

Arista was unimpressed. "Actually, the name's Snape. Arista Snape," she said, imitating James Bond. She uncoiled the black constrictor rope from her waist and knelt to begin binding his ankles. It wrapped snugly about Wrackspur's ankles, holding him fast.

"Snape?" he repeated, glaring at her. "You any relation to that greasy git that stole my place beside the Dark Lord? Because before he came along, I was the Master's favorite!"

"Don't have a clue what you're talking about, but that's okay. You can tell it to the dementors in Azkaban."

Wrackspur laughed harshly. "I'm not afraid of them! I've dealt with far darker than they! It was I who provided the Dark Lord with sustenance while he hovered in a half-life, energy drawn from the spirits in the Tower. I, the Ghost Master, not that slinking coward Potions Master! What is he, anyway, but a second-rate spy?"

Arista's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? My father's no spy, he would never serve Voldemort!"

Wrackspur sneered. "Shows how much you know! Looks like daddy's been keeping a few secrets from his family on the sly, eh? Too bad. He won't be pleased when he finds out what you've done, naughty girl!"

"Shut up, Wrackspur!" shouted Arista. "Shut your lying mouth before I do it for you."

"You think I'm lying?" he grinned malevolently. "I've been known to speak untruths, yes, but not this time."

"Oh, right."

"What's the matter? Can't handle the truth?" he taunted, then gasped as she tugged the rope about his injured wrist, tying it firmly to his other one. "The truth is that your father is a dark wizard, a slinking traitor, hired by that idiot Dumbledore all unknowing to be the Dark Lord's eyes and ears at Hogwarts!"

"You lie!" Arista cried, but she could sense the truth behind his words and it made her soul quail in horror. It couldn't be true. Her father, a Dark wizard? Never! And yet Wrackspur's words did not have the taint of a falsehood, he truly believed what he said. "You'll say anything to save your skin, you cringing coward!"

"Ask him, then!" the Ghost Master rasped. "I dare you! Ask Severus Snape to tell you the truth about where he goes every fifth night of the month. Ask to see the Dark Mark upon his left arm, which only the followers of the Great and Powerful Dark Lord are given to carry. Only the most loyal servants are allowed to carry it, as I am! He's—"

"Ten times the man you'll ever be!" Arista cut him off, furious at his insinuations. "You're nothing but a coldhearted murderer! You would have killed us all that night."

"True. You were in my way, interfering where you had no right. For that, you deserved to die. If not for that meddlesome ghostwalker, I would have succeeded in my mission, and you would be food for the worms now, child, your essences mine to use as I wished. Instead you have made into a failure, and he does not brook failures lightly, damn you all to hell!"

"Tell it to someone who cares."

"Oh, you'll care all right, girl! When the Dark Lord learns of the ghostwalker, you'll see the true might of the dark path. He'll send the Death eaters for her, because he can't have one of her kind abroad in the world again, to challenge his mastery over death. There can only be one Master, you see, that's why he killed all the descendants of the ghostwalkers he could find, to make sure no ghostwalker could ever come again. But he missed one, I suppose. They went into hiding, but they won't be able to hide any longer." Wrackspur cackled. "No one is safe from the Dark Lord! No one!"

His words sent an icy chill down her backbone. They echoed those spoken in her dream. No one is safe. No one. How much does Voldemort know? She wondered with a shiver of dread.

"Did you tell your master about the ghostwalker?" Arista demanded, grabbing Wrackspur by the shoulders and shaking him. "Did you?"

Wrackspur smiled chillingly.

"Tell me!" Arista demanded.

"Make me," he sneered. "Oh, but you don't have the guts, do you? You wouldn't stain your lily-white soul with a mere thing like a little torture, now would you?"

"I don't need the Cruciatus to make you talk."

"No?" he raised an eyebrow. "Plan on using that staff on me then? It won't work, you know. I've had worse than that, I won't tell you anything. And your little friend will die anyway, as is only fitting. All those who defy Voldemort deserve nothing less. Magic is might and only the mighty shall rule!"

Something snapped in her then. It was not his words so much as his utter lack of anything resembling human compassion that incited her temper to a searing pitch of white-hot fury. When he spoke of Mel dying there was not a shred of regret or remorse in his tone or in his heart. She was nothing to him, a mere thing to be disposed of, not a person, a girl with a whole life ahead of her. Arista recalled Drake, stricken and burning with the poison from fade, Wrackspur's fell hound familiar, and her rage increased tenfold. This monster would have smiled to see Drake dead, he had killed children before, she saw in his mind.

"You're a sick twisted bastard!" Arista shouted, the rage shooting through her in a scorching wave of red fire. "Now, for the last time, what did you tell Voldemort?"

"That's for me to know and you to wonder," he answered.

"Wrong!" she snarled, then locked eyes with him, and did the one thing she had sworn never to do.

She entered another's mind without permission, using her empathic gift to see into his soul, letting her rage at what he had been and done and might yet do scorch him to the marrow. Dirk Wrackspur screamed, for her touch was agony, righteous rage that burned the shadowy core inside him, stripping him bare and revealing all of his secrets.

_Tell me. Tell me. Does Voldemort know?_

He tried to block her, but his mindshields were paper and sand to her empathic assault, they crumbled beneath her truth-seeking spear.

And Arista Saw the truth of Dirk Wrackspur, Ghost Master.

He had not informed Voldemort of the ghostwalker, though he had planned to send a message to his master that day, once he got up enough courage to report his failure as well. He had been hoping that his newfound discovery would mitigate the punishment his lord would give him for losing the power source of the Tower ghosts.

She learned of how he had summoned the fell hound, Fade, to his side, using the sacrifices of newborns stolen from Muggle hospitals and orphanages. Fade fed off the suffering and pain of humans, its demon soul rejoicing in the terror the Ghost Master conjured with his revenants. Wrackspur had been furious at the death of his familiar, not due to any emotional attachment to the creature, but at the loss of a useful tool to him and consequently Voldemort as well. Fade had been one of the few fell hounds ever willing to enter into a partnership with a human necromancer for a time, that period being twenty-five years. The contract would have come due in five years.

She was very glad she'd killed the thing, after the images she'd received from the Ghost Master's mind.

She saw him as a young man, learning necromancy from an aged wizard with a crooked back, and how once he'd learned all he could from his teacher, had killed him and stolen his magic. He used the stolen magic to make himself look younger than his actual age, he was nearly sixty. He had been one of the first to recognise Tom Riddle's greatness and acknowledge him as his master, which was why he was so furious at Voldemort's apparent betrayal of his service.

He was cold, cold as the glaciers in the Arctic, hard as diamond, and remorseless. Killing was second nature to him, though unlike a tiger or a shark, he killed not for food, but for pleasure and power. Death was meat and drink to him, he relished it and his control over it.

It was why he was so envious of Mel, born with a power he could only dream of, the power to command the dead, to compel their obedience, and to become unto a spirit herself. For all of his dark arts, he had never been able to achieve that. He longed to have the ghostwalker in his power, for a few days or more, so he could learn how her talent worked and if he could wrest it from her. Of course, such would probably kill the girl, but at least dead she was no threat to them, and if he succeeded the rewards would be beyond measure.

_How DARE you? You'd sacrifice my friend just to satisfy your twisted vanity and idle curiosity? You're a sadistic freak and I hope you die in Azkaban! It'd be no more than you deserve! _  
The Ghost Master cried out as her anger sent hot needles of pain into his psyche.

_Please, please, no more!_

She withdrew slightly, but not before she caught a glimpse of his childhood, he'd been the middle child of three, inquisitive and bright, but dreadful if crossed. He had also, to her surprise, been Muggleborn and his parents had thought it was wonderful that their son had such an unusual gift. He'd inherited his father's retail company upon his father's death, a process which he'd helped along by means of a extra strong sleeping draft. He then used the money from the company to fuel his illegal experiments, including hiring the old necromancer to teach him the Dark Arts. He'd turned his back on his Muggle family then, and his poor mother had died still wondering why her son never came to see her, never realizing her son cared not at all for his pathetic magicless mother.

She also discovered his worst fear—dying unrecognized and powerless, just one of the unremembered dead. He wanted people to remember his name, to fear him the way they feared Voldemort, to be a legend that was whispered about in the dark of night. He was desperate for glory and power, and if he could not have them, he was worthless.

All the misery, all the death you caused, some of them your own family, it was all because you wanted fame and recognition? What kind of inhuman beast ARE you?

Sickened to the very core of her being, she drew herself out of the link and stepped away from him, darting him a look of pure and utter revulsion.

"Scout, come," she called to the magehound, who had been standing guard over the prisoner the whole time.

The dog trotted over to her and licked her hand. She longed to drop to her knees and hug the big dog, to cry into his fur for the horrible images she'd felt and seen, and worse, the fact that she'd broken the number one rule of all empaths, and forced a contact upon an unwilling subject. Necessary or not, she still felt shame at her actions. How then was she any better than the Ghost Master? Were her motives any purer because she justified using her gift that way in defense of a friend, and not herself?

Reluctantly, she forced herself to meet Dirk Wrackspur's eerie gold gaze, and saw fear mixed with hate in his eyes now.

"What are you, that you could do such to me?" he demanded softly. "You penetrated my mind without a spell!"

"Yeah. And I can do it again if you don't watch your step, buddy," she said in her most menacing tone. "You can have no secrets from an empath, Wrackspur."

"An empath? I should have known! All of you are bleeding heart romantics, convinced you can save the world through love and self-sacrifice. Pathetic!"

"Shut up! I don't know how you can stand to look at yourself in the mirror everyday. I'm surprised the glass doesn't break. How can you sleep at night, after the things you've done?"

"Very easily. I just close my eyes and imagine a world where the Dark Lord rules all. And I am his faithful right hand, of course."

"But . . .you killed babies, your own father even . . .doesn't that bother you?"

"No. Should it?"

She did not bother to answer, sensing he was goading her.

"What now, girl? Going to turn me over to your Auror buddies for a swift trial?"

"I am. Scared, Wrackspur?"

"Terrified," he laughed. "Azkaban is not inescapable. Sirius Black did it. Perhaps I will too."

The mere thought of him roaming free, causing more pain and death brought her temper to the fore. Before she stopped to think, she had slammed with an empathic compulsion. "Try and even think about escape, Wrackspur, and this is what you'll get!" Then she summoned up his worst fear and projected it at him.

He howled and shrank from her.

"Do you like that? _Do you_?' she screamed.

He cringed away, curling into a half ball, shivering and whimpering like a beaten puppy.

_My God, what am I doing? The rational part of her mind cried in horror. I don't use my gift to compel, to harm. I've never used it that way. Dear Lord, what am I becoming?_

Filled with self-loathing, she released the compulsion.

Then she stepped to the fireplace, locating Wrackspur's Floo powder. She had to get away from him, transfer his custody to someone else, before she did something even more unforgivable.

She tossed a pinch of Floo into the fire. "The Leaky Cauldron, Remus Lupin's room."

The flames turned green then opened a portal to the former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher's current location. As a werewolf, Remus never stayed in one place very long, though he often rented a room at the inn in Diagon Alley.

"Remus, I need to see you, please," she called.

The werewolf's sandy-blond head appeared in the circle of green fire. "Arista? What's going on?"

"I need to talk to you about something really important, Remus. I've just captured the Ghost Master."

Remus gaped at her then beckoned her to come through. She did, along with Scout, dragging the bound Wrackspur after her like a wooden pull toy.


	7. Empaths Aren't Meant For Revenge

**"Empaths Aren't Meant For Revenge"**

**Severus finally comes home . . .and he is not happy with what has gone on!**

It had been over eight hours since Kit had found Arista's note explaining where she was going and why. During that time, the SR's had done little save discuss what might be happening with Arista and her unauthorized pursuit of the Ghost Master. Mel was inclined to swear at her friend's reckless stupidity and pace, while Trish worried endlessly that Arista might be killed fighting the evil sorcerer. Kit was torn between admiring Arista for her determination and courage and at the same time glad he didn't have to confront the white-cloaked wizard again. As for Drake, he chafed at his enforced confinement, for neither of the girls was allowing him to do much besides rest and drink water and fruit juice every couple of hours. He wished he'd been able to speak with Arista before she left, he might have been able to talk her out of her wild scheme, or at the very least convince her to take her with him.

The waiting was driving him mad, and as a result he grew irritable and snappish. "Quit acting like my mother, won't you?" he growled at Trish when she came to ask if he needed anything else to drink or eat that afternoon. "I'm not on my deathbed yet."

"You very nearly were, you know!" Trish said shortly, her brown eyes flashing. "And don't take that tone with me, Drake Lockwood, I'm not your little sister!" She slammed the glass of pumpkin juice down on the coffee table so hard the table rattled and some of the juice slopped over the edge and onto some of Severus's potions journals that were scattered nearby.

"Damn it, now see what you made me do!" she cried. "I'm in enough trouble with Severus as it is, the last thing I need is to wreck his magazines!" she pointed her wand and muttered a quick drying charm.

Drake flushed, immediately regretting his bad temper. It took a good deal to get sunny Trish riled, she was normally the most easy going of them. "Sorry, Trish. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. It's not you I'm mad at. I'm just . . .I don't know, sick of being stuck here when I should be out there, helping her hunt down that bastard."

"And _you're_ worried about her too," Trish said knowingly.

"Yeah. She's got more training than I do, she's good, but she's not in the same class as a real Hunter, like Colin or Jenna. Her going off solo like that . . ." he shook his head. "It wasn't smart. The best Hunters work with a partner, most times."

"Her mother didn't."

"Her mother was in a class by herself. And half the time she did have a partner, the dragon Fireflash. And Amelia didn't go solo until she had a year or more of experience, at least that's what Colin Flynn told me. Arista's not even a fully trained Dark Hunter."

"She's got Scout though. He's trained to track down and apprehend criminals."

"Right, but even Scout's no substitute for a Hunter partner."

Trish eyed him thoughtfully. "How do you know so much about Dark Hunters, Drake?"

He glanced away, embarrassed. "I, uh, have been studying up on them. Colin gave me some books on Hunter protocol and the requirements I need to apply to the Dark Hunter Academy in New York City."

"You're thinking of applying there?"

"Yeah, I've been considering it."

"Why there and not here, as an Auror?"

"Because the Ministry won't approve you for an Auror position until you're twenty-three at least. I don't want to wait that long. The Academy will take me right after I've graduated Hogwarts, provided I pass all their entrance exams. Besides, Hunters are a lot less . . .structured than the Auror Department. They're disciplined, but you can use your own initiative if you have to, and they're a lot more willing to teach you combat magic. I like their style. They do more than just catch criminals, they fight them, with magic and without it. They're the best at what they do, and I want to be the best too. Like Amelia Amarotti was and Colin Flynn is. And Severus too, come to think of it."

"Severus isn't a Dark Hunter."

"He bloody well could be if he wanted to. You didn't see him in action the way I did last summer, Trish. He kicked the Dragonmaster's ass good, and a bunch of other dragonslayers too. He's not just a Potions Master, Trish, believe me. If he were teaching us Defense, we'd be prepared for anything, trust me. I had one session with him before we took on the dragonslayer assignment and it was incredible." Drake smiled reminiscently. "He really knows his stuff, and God, he worked my ass off, but I learned more from him in an hour and a half than I ever did from all the other teachers we've had in five years at Hogwarts."

"But if the professor's so good at Defense, why won't Dumbledore let him teach it?"

"I don't know. I guess Dumbledore's got his reasons, but it's crazy. Maybe he doesn't want to lose his Potions Master, since he's one of the best in his field?" Drake speculated. "One thing I do know, is that I'd trust him at my back more than anybody else in the Auror Department, even Mad-Eye Moody. And I'm not just saying that 'cause he's my Head of House or anything like that. I'm not a suck up like Malfoy or Flint or Montague."

Trish nodded in understanding. "You've seen a side of him that hardly anyone else has. Like Arista and I have. He let you see the man, not just the snarky teacher."

"Exactly. And I have to admit, it impressed the hell out of me. He's more than what he seems, a whole lot more."

"I know. I just wish he'd let the others see it too. Half the Gryffindors think he's nothing more than a greasy git who doesn't know the meaning of the word nice. And all of them wonder how I can stand living here with him. But they don't know the Severus I do."

Drake shrugged. "I'm sure he has his reasons too. Maybe one day he will, who knows?"

"And maybe pigs will fly," Trish chuckled. "While we're wishing, I guess we'd better wish that Arista gets back in one piece before Severus does. Otherwise we're gonna see a side of him none of us will like at all, heaven help us."

Drake grimaced. "That girl! Some of the things she does make me want to shake her, I swear it."

"Me too." Trish commiserated. "But for all of that, we love her anyway."

"Yeah," Drake agreed, then went beet red once he realized what he'd said. "Ummm . . .I mean . . ."

"It's okay. I won't tell anyone. Promise."

"How long have you known?"

"Awhile. Since you two came back from America," Trish admitted.

"Was it _that_ obvious?" he groaned.

"Only to someone who knows you really well," Trish laughed.

"Does Arista know? Because she, uh, never said anything."

"You'll have to ask her that question, Drake. I'm sure she'll be happy to answer it," Trish said mysteriously.

"You think?" Drake looked hopeful and scared at the same time. "Because I don't want her to think I'm pushing her into anything if she doesn't feel the same way, you know? I don't want to ruin our friendship, and I don't know if you can still be friends with someone and love them too."

"Of course you can, silly!" Trish chuckled. "That's the way it was for Severus and Amelia. They were friends and lovers."

Drake gaped at her. "How the blazes do you know that? He _said_ that to you?"

"Of course not. Arista learned that from Jenna and she told me. Severus rarely talks about Amelia, I think it makes him too sad. Anyhow, if they could do it, why not you and Arista?"

Drake was silent for several moments, considering the possibilities. Slowly, he nodded. "You're right. I was being an idiot. Thanks, Trish. When Arista gets back, I'll talk to her. I should've done it before, but well, it never seemed to be the right time."

"Sometimes you have to make time."

"Where'd you learn all this relationship stuff anyhow?"

"Number one, I'm a girl, and some of it's instinctive. Number two, I learned a lot about what not to do from watching my mother with all of her boyfriends. Sometimes watching things fall apart is very instructive. My parents' marriage is a good example. Neither of them ever made time for the other, it was always me, me, me. They never really talked either, not about what mattered. That's the main reason why they split up. Well, that and because my mum can be a first class harpy bitch. But my dad let her walk all over him too. That's one mistake I'll never make."

"Is that why you and Rowan aren't going out anymore?"

"Partly. And it's also because he's a conceited jock who thinks I study too much and that Severus is a jerk."

"Who needs him then?" Drake asked angrily. "He's nothing but a peacock, Trish. You can do much better."

"Aww, that's sweet of you, Drake. You're the nicest Slytherin I know."

"Uh, well, like I said before, there're king snakes as well as cobras in my House, so don't judge us all by the way Marsh and Hathaway and their kind act. Not all Slytherins are bad."

"And not all Hufflepuffs are pushovers," Trish added.

"That's for darn sure," Mel agreed, coming into the room. "Who's hungry? I'm starving. Kit's making hamburgers, or trying to."

Trish rose to her feet hastily. "He is? I didn't know he could cook."

"Uh . . ."Mel began.

"I'd better go see what he's up to, before he sets the house on fire or something." Trish ran into the kitchen.

Mel and Drake looked at each other. Then they both burst out laughing.

No one was laughing an hour later, however, when Snape returned unexpectedly from his covert mission for Dumbledore. Trish had managed to save dinner and they were all lounging around in the den, discussing Quidditch, in the case of Mel and Kit, and the upcoming year of classes, in the case of Drake and Trish, when they heard the sound of a key turning in the lock.

Everyone froze. "Oh God, what do we do?" Mel hissed.

"Just act normal, Seton, you dope," Kit growled, looking as if he wished he were a thousand miles away and anything but normal.

The door opened, and a weary looking Professor Snape entered. He tossed his cloak on the coat rack before glancing up to see the four friends seated in his living room. "What's this, a slumber party?"

Libby awoke and whuffed softly before ambling over to the Potions Master, tail wagging. Severus reached down to scratch the puppy's ears and Libby licked his hand ecstatically. Comfrey appeared out of the air and rubbed about his ankles, purring a welcome.

"Uh, hi, Professor," Kit managed, not looking him in the eye, instead pretending to read one of the magazines on the table. He didn't think Snape noticed, the professor was busy petting his cat.

"Hello, Kit," he answered.

Mel and Drake echoed him, fake smiles plastered all over their faces. Trish rose to her feet and came over to give him a hug, as was her wont. "Hi, Severus," she said, wondering if her voice sounded nervous or not. "Uh, I've got some leftovers in the fridge if you want to eat something."

"Later, maybe," he answered, returning her hug. Then he glanced about the room for his daughter. "Where's Arista?"

Time seemed to freeze, and none of them dared to look at each other.

Then Mel blurted, "She, uh, took Scout for a walk just now."

Snape seemed to find nothing unusual with that, he simply nodded, then continued past them to his bedroom to get showered and changed out of his robes. They waited until they heard the shower running before they started to talk, quietly.

"Mel, how could you _say _that?" Trish hissed, her brown eyes wide in her round face. She was a terrible liar, and she made it a point to never to lie to her guardian, for fear he would regret his decision to take her in and send her away to live in some orphanage.

Mel spread her hands, looking guilty and defensive at the same time. "What? I had to say _something._ If we didn't answer him it would've looked weird. And it is partially true, she did take Scout for a walk."

"To hunt down a necromancer," Drake said dryly.

"What are you going to tell him an hour from now when Arista isn't home yet?" Kit asked in an undertone, shooting a look at the closed bedroom door.

"The truth," Drake answered before Mel could open her mouth. "It's no use in lying to him, Mel, that'll only make him more furious."

"At least let him eat first. He'll be in a better mood if he's not hungry, right?" Mel surmised, chewing her nails.

Trish nodded. "Probably. And maybe we'll get lucky and Arista will show up."

Kit and Drake rolled their eyes at the blond girl's optimism. "Like that'll ever happen," Kit muttered. "We'd have a better chance of a meteor crashing into the house."

"It doesn't hurt to hope for the best," Trish shot back, disgruntled by Kit's cavalier dismissal of her opinion. Then she sighed and said, "As long as I'm hoping, I might as well hope not to be grounded for the rest of the summer."

Mel cast her friend a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this. None of this would have happened if my stupid powers hadn't manifested."

"That wasn't something you could control," Drake pointed out. "As for the rest of it, we chose to help you, you didn't make us. We knew the risks when we agreed to fight Wrackspur, so don't you dare go blaming yourself for this, Melinda Seton!" He shook his arm pointedly in the tall girl's face. It was healed on the outside, but it still ached and he felt very tired and weak.

"But—"

"But nothing," Drake cut her off. "You and Arista are two of a kind, always taking responsibility for the decisions others make. What one of us chooses to do is out of your hands, and so are the consequences of that action. We're not little kids, Mel, we can make up our own minds and live with it. I knew it would be dangerous when I agreed to go back, but the danger was worth it because good came out of it, the Tower ghosts set free and the curse broken and Wrackspur defeated."

"You think that was worth you almost getting killed?"

"Yeah," he answered. "You'd do the same for one of us."

"Maybe," she shot back, then grinned to show she wasn't serious.

"Drake, how good do you think Arista's chances are of finding Wrackspur?" Kit asked softly.

"Better than even, with Scout tracking. He always gets his quarry and the trail was fresh. He should have no trouble tracing Wrackspur. As far as Arista bringing him in, she's been well trained, better than any of us, and I'd say she has a good chance of succeeding. Better than she does of surviving Snape's temper when he finds out."

As if on cue, the bedroom door opened. Severus was now wearing a pair of gray cargo pants and a long sleeved blue shirt with the saying _Sarcasm—just one more service I offer_ printed in large letters across it. He'd traded his black boots for comfortable sneakers and his hair was pulled back in a neat tail.

"Neat shirt, sir," Kit remarked, his mouth quirking in amusement.

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Trish picked it out. Arista's still not back yet?" he frowned at the door. "What'd she do, take Scout to China?" He shook his head then walked into the kitchen to grab a bite to eat.

The kids breathed a sigh of relief when he departed, though one and all wondered what had become of the professor's keen powers of observation.

Actually, Severus had noticed the way the kids wouldn't meet his eyes squarely, the swift furtive glances, and the nervous tapping of Trish's hand against her knee. He suspected they were covering for Arista for some reason, and he would soon pry the information out of them, but he preferred to do so after he'd eaten dinner, he was less apt to give himself an ulcer that way.

So he allowed himself a leisurely supper before he returned to the den to grill his daughter's friends on Arista's whereabouts.

He went on the attack immediately, narrowing his eyes and giving all of them one of his famous Snape glares, the kind that made you feel as if he could see right through you. "All right, now which one of you is going to answer my question truthfully?"

"What question, sir?" Trish asked, greatly daring.

"The only one I haven't yet gotten a straight answer to, Tricia Greenbough," he began sternly. "Where is Arista?"

"Uh, well, you see . . ." she began, stammering and twisting a lock of her hair around and around her finger.

"Yes?"

Drake cleared his throat. Severus darted a sharp glance at him. "You have something to say, Lockwood?"

Drake nodded, forcing himself to meet the Potion Master's dark piercing gaze. "Yes, sir. But before I answer your question, I have to tell you something else. And I think you might want to sit down, Professor, 'cause this could take awhile."

Snape arched an eyebrow. "Really?" Then he picked Comfrey up off of his recliner and sat down, putting the gray cat on the back of it. "Talk, Lockwood."

Drake obeyed, telling Snape how they had gone to visit the Tower of London, the conversation with the ghost of Anne Boleyn, the discovery that Mel was a ghostwalker and the request that they help break the curse set upon the ghost in the Tower.

Snape listened carefully to the boy's words, noting that as implausible as the tale sounded, Drake did not hesitate once when he told it, and his eyes remained fixed steadily on Severus's own. Severus was a master at deception and he could tell that Drake was not lying. The others too seemed more relaxed as soon as Lockwood had begun speaking, relieved to be rid of the burden of truth, perhaps.

He held up a hand midway through Drake's tale, casting a searching glance at Mel. "You're a ghostwalker, Seton?"

"Yes, sir, I am," she said quietly.

"Prove it. Shift into your phantom form."

"Okay," Mel agreed, then blurred into her phantom form.

Severus blinked, the swiftness of her transformation had caught him by surprise, even though he knew she was telling the truth. "Do you know how rare your talent is, Melinda Seton? There hasn't been a ghostwalker—a _true_ ghostwalker—in over five centuries."

"I know that, sir." She changed back into solid form. "Queen Anne told me. She also told me that You-Know-Who wouldn't like it if he learned that a new ghostwalker was around."

"That is correct. He wouldn't like it at all. You challenge his mastery over death by your very existence. But that is neither here nor there." He turned back to Drake. "Continue, Lockwood."

Drake did so, detailing how they had fought the Ghost Master and his own injury by Fade, as well as Arista's healing of it.

"Let me get this straight," Severus began slowly, his temper beginning to ignite as he listened to the extraordinary risks the five teenagers had taken in daring to go up against the likes of an experienced dark wizard like Dirk Wrackspur, who was an old contemporary of Voldemort and well-known to the Potions Master as a member of Voldemort's inner circle of Death Eaters. "You five decided to have a duel with one of the most notorious criminals in London on the say so of a five-hundred-year-old dead woman?"

"She needed our help, sir, and it didn't seem right to just refuse her." Mel began.

"But it did seem right to risk all of your lives to break a centuries old curse?" he repeated with an edge to his voice. "Did all of you inhale a Heroic Imbecile Potion or something? Because that's the only way I can think of to explain the sheer stupidity of your actions." He fixed them with his most disapproving glare. "I suppose it never crossed your mind to inform an adult about this request? Or that it might have been a carefully orchestrated trap, a lure to draw you in, so the Ghost Master could finish off the last ghostwalker in Britain?"

"But why would they want to do that, sir?" Mel asked. "They were slaves to the Ghost Master, they just wanted to be free of him."

"Maybe so, Miss Seton, but the fact remains that slaves do what their master wishes, and you could have been walking into a cleverly disguised trap. And if that had been the case, do you know what would have happened then? You would have died!" he growled. "Died alone with no one the wiser, another conquest for Wrackspur, another victory for Voldemort."

"But that didn't happen, Professor Snape," Kit said. "We beat Wrackspur."

Snape sneered at him. "You beat Wrackspur, Ambrosius, by a combination of sheer dumb luck and because God watches over fools and reckless teenage wizards. If he'd been less arrogant, he could have killed you all in five minutes, using the Killing Curse. Not all the potions in my book would have saved you then." He scowled at Trish, who was hanging her head. "What happened to your promise to me, young lady? Didn't take you but three days for you to break it."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Good. You should be. It's going to cost you too, but I'll get to that in a minute. What I want to know now is where the bloody hell is my other daughter and her magehound? Enlighten me please, Lockwood, since you seem to be the only one with guts enough to tell me the truth."

"Arista's gone to hunt down Dirk Wrackspur, Professor. She left this morning, we think."

Severus's hands clenched into fists. "Of all the idiotic, reckless, insane stunts!" he exploded, his eyes blazing with anger coated with fear. "Who the bloody hell does she think she is? Bloody God damn Merlin? Even her mother never—" he broke off abruptly, recalling that Amelia had indeed done something similar when she had gone to hunt down Nightshade alone. _That was different. Amelia was a trained professional, sent out on an assignment, not a mere fifteen-year-old with barely two years of defense training. She's a Healer, not a Dark Hunter, blast it all!_ "How long ago did she leave?"

"Uh, I found the note when I woke up this morning, so maybe eight hours or more," Kit guessed, then winced when the Potions Master swore furiously.

"She took Scout and my Blackstaff with her?" the others nodded swiftly. "That's something, anyway. The Blackstaff's a good thing to have in a fight. Even so . . .You all have spellophone rings, how come it didn't occur to all of you brilliant scholars to call her on one?" he demanded scathingly.

"I don't know, sir," Trish said in a small voice. "We should've, though."

"Damn right you should've!" Snape roared at her. "Think, don't just react, that's something all of you need to learn. Arista especially, she's got a habit of rushing in where angels fear to tread, just like a Gryffindor."

"I think she was trying to protect us, sir," put in Drake loyally.

"I know that, Lockwood!" he snapped. "It's the curse of her Amarotti heritage. But if she's out there trying to protect you, whose going to protect her?"

"Scout?" Kit blurted before he could think better of it.

Snape shot him a withering glare. Kit cringed. "Don't be a smartass, Ambrosius." He twirled the ring about on his right hand. "Let's see if I can contact her," he muttered, half to himself. If not, he would cast a locator spell and go search for her himself, he vowed.

* * * * * *  
Remus Lupin could not have been more shocked had a genie materialized in his room and offered him his heart's desire than he was when Arista walked through his fireplace with Scout and the notorious Ghost Master in tow.

Lupin knew of Wrackspur, his reputation as Voldemort's enforcer had preceded him, as had many stories of his cruelty and need to inflict pain upon Muggles and wizards alike. The Order of the Phoenix had long kept tabs on the Ghost Master, hoping to catch him in an illegal summoning and thus have an excuse to arrest him, but they had never managed to do so. The Ghost Master covered his tracks too well, vanishing like the spirits he commanded every time they drew too close. Most of the information they had on him had been gathered by Severus, who had described him as one of the most cold-hearted killers ever. Snape had told Lupin that Wrackspur would cheerfully slit his own mother's throat and smile, if he thought it would benefit his master.

Yet here he was, trussed as neatly as a Christmas goose for the pot, and who had brought him but a mere fifteen-year-old girl? Lupin could not help but whistle softly in admiration. Arista Snape was amazing, that was all there was to it.

Once they were safely inside his rooms, Lupin quickly placed a scramble charm over the fireplace, so no one could use Floo Powder to enter the room. Then he snapped a glowing force cage about Wrackspur, for he was taking no chances on this valuable prisoner escaping.

Then he sat back down on the tiny green sofa and said in a tone that was two parts wonder to one part disapproval, "You mind telling me how you managed to capture Wrackspur, Miss Snape?"

"You know about him then?"

Lupin nodded. "He's on the Ministry's Most Wanted list."

"I'm not surprised," she said, her mouth twisting into a grimace of disgust. "Scout was the one who tracked him down. He wasn't expecting anyone to come looking for him that wasn't a dark wizard and I caught him off guard."

"He doublecrossed Voldemort?"

"No, he failed a task Voldy set him," Arista informed him. Lupin grinned at the nickname. She quickly went on to explain about the ghosts in the Tower and Mel's being a ghostwalker and their battle with the revenants and Wrackspur.

"That was very brave of you, fighting the revenants like that," Lupin began. "Brave and also extremely stupid. You could have gotten killed, you should have contacted an adult before you went after them."

Arista winced. "Please, Remus. We didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice," the werewolf argued.

"Fine. It was the best choice we could make," she shot back.

"I disagree. However, the point's moot now." He sighed. "Now I'm glad I never had kids, if this is the kind of thing you do. I take it Severus has no idea what you were up to?"

"God, no!" Arista chuckled.

"Didn't think so. Therefore I'll spare you my lecture, since he can give you one better than I can, God knows. What made you bring him here?"

"Because Dad told me that if he were ever away or unavailable and I was in trouble or something, I should contact you. I figured this qualified."

"It did, and I'll make sure he goes to trial and gets put away for life. I can't mention your name, you understand, but he'll get what's coming to him regardless."

Wrackspur huddled in a ball on the carpet, glaring at Lupin with his eerie gold gaze. Scout growled softly and the necromancer whimpered low in his throat and cringed away.

"Remus, can I ask you something?" Arista began hesitantly.

"Sure."

"Do you know where my dad goes on these little trips of his?"

Lupin looked startled. Then he said quietly, "I can't answer that, Arista. Whatever Severus does is between him and Dumbledore, they don't discuss it with anyone else. You'll have to ask Severus himself."

"I will." _Along with a bunch of other questions, like why Wrackspur believes he's a Death Eater. _She felt suddenly weary, tired beyond belief, tired and wounded in spirit. All she wanted now was to go home and sleep, and pray that her sleep did not contain nightmares.

Suddenly, her spellophone chimed. She reached into her pocket and pulled the midnight blue disk covered with silver sparkles out. Opening it, she hit the Receive key.

Professor Snape's face appeared out of the image gel in the bottom of the disk, and he looked ready to spit nails. "Arista, it's your father, if you get this message, I want you to get your ass back home right blasted now, young lady! You are in serious trouble, am I understood? If you're not home in five minutes, I'm coming to find you. Goodbye."

She winced. "Damn! I hoped I could get back before he came home. Just my rotten luck."

"Better hurry, he's not in a very patient mood."

"Or a forgiving one, I'll bet," she sighed, reaching for the Floo powder.

"Can't say I blame him. I'd be having a fit too if I came home and found my only daughter gone hunting a criminal alone."

"See you, Remus. And thanks for everything."

He waved off her thanks. "It was the least I could do. Good luck, Arista."

"Thanks." She whistled for Scout, then stepped into the fireplace. God, I am so dead. She tossed the Floo powder down and said clearly, "Snape residence, Spinner's End."

The next instant she vanished in a cloud of brilliant emerald smoke, leaving Remus to contact the Ministry and inform them that one of the most notorious criminals in the wizarding world was in the custody of the Order of the Phoenix.

* * * * * *

When Arista stepped out of the fireplace, Severus felt immense relief and searing anger at the same time. His temper prodded him to make some kind of sarcastic comment, but that impulse soon died when he caught sight of her eyes. They were no longer the eyes of a fifteen-year-old, but bright with painful knowledge. The knowledge that only comes after looking into the face of true evil. He knew the look, Amelia had worn it after defeating Slade, he'd seen it countless times when he looked in the mirror. He had hoped to never see it in Arista's eyes. The fires of his anger faded to ash.

Scout bounded out of the fireplace, obviously happy to be home and proud of completing yet another mission. He frisked up to the Potions Master, who had been standing slightly to the left of the coffee table. Severus petted him and told him he was a wonderful dog, then conjured him a steak dinner as a reward.

Arista glanced around at her friends, who bore mixed expressions of relief and warning. Plainly, they'd been on the receiving end of Snape's temper already. She flashed them an apologetic look, the last thing she'd wanted was for them to be in trouble with him over her.

"Did you find him?" Drake asked, and Arista was relived to note that he was much better than he had been this morning.

"Yes."

"Where is he then?" Kit demanded, peering hard at the fireplace, as if expecting Wrackspur to appear there.

"I turned him over to Lupin, who'll give him to the Ministry." Arista answered.

Mel opened her mouth to ask something, but was interrupted by Snape. "She'll answer all your questions later. Right now, you and I need to have a very long talk, young lady. Upstairs now." His tone brooked no argument.

"Yes, sir," Arista replied, knowing it was better to just get it over with. And yet, forbidding as his manner seemed, she got the odd feeling that he wasn't all that angry with her anymore. Which didn't make a bit of sense, and she wondered if she were reading him wrong. Perhaps after using her gift on Wrackspur that way, it became unreliable.

She mounted the stairs slowly, feeling much the way Anne Boleyn must have felt climbing the scaffold on Tower Green for her execution. This time he's gonna ground me for life, I just know it. I'm going to spend the rest of my school years under house arrest. And the worst part was she couldn't even resent him for it, for she knew she deserved it. She had known when she began this caper that it would end this way.

Upon entering her bedroom, which was thankfully, not the disaster it usually was when Mel and Trish shared it, she removed her pack and set it down near the closet. She'd have plenty of time to empty it later. She placed the Blackstaff against the closet door, she would give it back to her father after he was done screaming at her, it was safer that way.

She was grateful he'd decided to scold her in private, he could have done it in front of her friends and embarrassed her even more. Then again, that wasn't his way, to allow himself to lose his temper in public. She took a seat on her bed, hands folded in her lap, and wished this were over. Her head throbbed unmercifully.

Snape entered the room a moment later, closing the door behind him and casting a Muffliato charm on the room so they wouldn't be overheard. Arista hid a wince, this was worse than she thought. He tucked his wand away, then came to stand over her, fixing her with a most disapproving frown.

"I distinctly remember asking you not to get into trouble while I was gone, Arista Eileen Snape. Correct?"

"Yes, sir." She met his gaze steadily.

"Then would you mind enlightening me as to why you felt the need to go chasing after a dark wizard alone with only Scout for a companion? I know all about the Tower and Melinda's being a ghostwalker, you needn't repeat it," he added sharply when she opened her mouth.

"I was angry," she found herself saying, much to her surprise. "His stupid fell hound had nearly killed Drake, and he had gotten off with barely a scratch. It bothered me a lot. Sure, we'd won, the curse was broken and all, but it wasn't enough. He was still free, still able to hurt people, and he was Voldemort's follower. Worse he knew about Mel, what she was and all. I was afraid he would report that back to his master and then Voldy would send his Death Eaters out for her, to either capture her or kill her."

Snape nodded. "He would have, most definitely." Then he arched an eyebrow. "_Voldy?"_

"Mel's idea. If you can't beat them, humiliate them utterly," she returned with a hint of her old spirit. "I knew it was only a matter of time, and while she was safe here, she might not be at home. No one was safe as long as Wrackspur was free, able to give Voldy information."

"So you took it upon yourself to play Hunter and go after him."

"I had to go, I was the only one with more training," she argued. "I was the logical choice. One of us had already gotten hurt, I wasn't about to risk anyone else."

"Except yourself," he growled. "Why didn't you go to Lupin first, instead of running off to face Wrackspur alone? That would have been a logical choice."

"I didn't think of it," she admitted. "I was stupid, okay? Is that what you want to hear?" He remained impassive. After a moment, she continued. "I was careful, I took precautions, same as I had when we went to face him at the Tower. I'm not a total imbecile, you know." She went on to detail the preparations she'd made and how Scout had picked up the trail right away, bringing her at last to Wrackspur's front door.

"Then what happened?" Snape asked, and his voice was no longer stern, but soft.

"The door was locked, so I opened it with a Fastinus charm. He was afraid of Voldy coming for him, I think, because his place was warded against dark wizards, but not anyone else." She told him of how he'd tried to spring an ambush, how Scout had attacked him, and she had broken his wrist with the Blackstaff and tied him up with the constrictor rope. "He was so smug, even when I told him that he'd go to Azkaban. He laughed, said Azkaban didn't scare him, that he'd escape just like Sirius Black one day. He said some other things too, about you . . .lies, all of it," she said quickly, not wanting to get into that now. "I needed to know if he'd contacted his master, told him about Mel. But he wouldn't answer me. He reminded me what was in store for her once Voldy did find out, how he would come for her and kill her, and he smiled when he said it, he enjoyed thinking about how they were going to torture her or whatever!" Arista cried, her eyes flashing. "I could feel the satisfaction coming off him, it was—sickening. I . . .lost my temper. I asked him to tell me the truth and he said "make me". So I . . .went in his head . . .I know it was wrong, but I had to know if Mel was in danger and I hated him so much . . ." She began to shiver and then she closed her eyes. "When I was in his mind, I saw everything, he hadn't told Voldy yet about Mel, but he was planning to, soon as he got up guts enough . . .I saw other things too . . .his life, how he became what he was . . .it was _horrible_, Dad, he killed his own father, he was Muggleborn and he hated it, he thought he was better than they were, and he killed his father for money for his magical experiments . . .He liked hurting people, he loved the power it gave him . . .that was why he joined Voldemort, so he could rule alongside of him . . .I've never felt anything like that, so evil, so twisted . . .He didn't feel any remorse when he killed, none! He was cold, he might as well have been dead for all the feeling he had for the ones he killed . . ."

She opened her eyes then, and in them burned an awful knowledge. Snape moved over to sit next to her, but remained still, not saying anything, allowing her to continue revealing what had occurred in the cottage at her own pace. She needed to get it out of her system.

"I'd read about people like that, but reading's one thing and feeling it's another. It made me sick . . .and it also made me mad. Then I saw what he feared, his worst nightmare, and when I left his mind, I took it with me. He was afraid of me at first, asked what I was that could penetrate his mind without a spell, I told him and he sneered at me. Then he said that even if he did go to Azkaban, he would find a way to escape and join Voldy again and continue his campaign of death. He meant it too. He'd been a dark wizard a long time, Dad, he was sixty or something, but he used necromancy to make himself look younger. When he said that . . .I lost it completely. I-I fearcast at him, you know what that is?" Snape nodded. "I took his nightmare and made him relive it . . .all of it . . .I used my empathy as a weapon, something I swore I would never do. I swore an oath and I broke it . . .because of him. But that's not the worst part . . ." her voice trembled, and in her eyes was now shame and remorse and self-loathing. "The worst part was that a part of me . . .liked it. I was glad I hurt him . . .I wanted him to be in pain, me the Healer!" She stared down at her hands. "I stopped, once I realized what I'd done . . .but it was too late . . . what I did . . .it made me like him . . .no better than what he did to all those people . . .a monster . . ." she trailed off, her voice a painful rasp, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.

He caught her chin in his hands, forcing her to look at him. "Look at me, Arista," he ordered. "You, a monster? Never. You are nothing like he is, you never could be. Not in a thousand lifetimes. You regret and he never can. What you did was wrong, but that does not make you his equal, child. He's a murderer who kills for the fun of it, you can barely kill a spider without feeling guilty."

"Didn't you hear what I said, Dad?" she cried. "I hurt him and I liked it . . .what the hell does that make me?"

He grabbed her in his arms and hugged her to him. "It makes you human, Arista mine. That's all. Only human, just like everyone else. You're an empath, not a saint, you're allowed to make mistakes, yes, you are, don't shake your head! Anyone else, me, Lupin, Colin, would have felt the same as you did afterwards . . .the very same. It's natural to want revenge on those who have hurt you or your friends, hell if I'd been there, he wouldn't have been merely scared he would have been dead! Now, does that make me a terrible person?"

She shook her head, sobbing against his shirt. "It's not the same . . ."

"Why not? Because you as a Healer, hold yourself to be a paragon of virtue? That because you heal, you must never know anger, or hatred, or any of those petty emotions?" he demanded harshly. "Who's being arrogant now, Arista Snape? One mistake does not condemn you for life, sweetling. You always get a second chance." He held her tighter, stroking her hair and her back, over and over. "And you deserve a second chance, trust me." He sighed softly. "Shhh . . .it's okay. Empaths aren't meant for revenge . . .it costs you too damn much . . .but that's a good thing, a very good thing, Arista mine. . .We need compassion like yours in this world, to balance out the monsters like Wrackspur and Slade and Nightshade."

He held her for a long time, and was reminded of yet another night, over fifteen years ago, when he had held another empath this same way. _You are so like your mother, child. So very like her. _  
At last Arista sat up and wiped her eyes. "Dad, how did Mom ever handle going after scum like that on a daily basis? How did she stand it?"

"It wasn't easy for her. Not at all. That's why she ended up here, because after Slade she was an emotional wreck. The only way I could help her was with a dreamwalk spell. She was good at what she did, but it cost her more than she would ever admit. Empaths aren't meant for revenge, that you need to leave to people like me, who are better able to deal with it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I'm tougher than you emotionally, I don't allow guilt to eat me alive, especially not over a piece of slime like Wrackspur, who doesn't deserve a shred of pity from anyone," he answered bluntly.

"Dad, when I told him who I was, he recognized my name," she began hesitantly. "He knew you. He said . . .this has to be a lie, but he believed it was the truth . . .he said you were one of them—a Death Eater. That you were a spy for Voldemort. I told him to shut up, but I could feel the truth in his words. He told me to ask you about marks or something, I didn't get all he was saying, but . . .It's not true, is it?" She gazed up at him, her eyes pleading.

Professor Snape sighed heavily. "For him, it's the truth. But it's not the whole truth."

"What? I don't understand."

"You will. I never intended to tell you this now, it's too early to reveal my hand this soon, but now I have no choice. What Wrackspur said was true, Arista. I am a spy. I'm Albus Dumbledore's secret agent, working undercover to gather information to bring down Voldemort. That's what I've been doing for the past fifteen years, inbetween teaching."

"My God! But why you?"

"That's not so easy to answer. But I'll try and explain it to you. Now be quiet and pay attention, because I'm only going to say this once." He cleared his throat, cursing Wrackspur from the depths of his soul, and then he told his daughter everything about his other life, his secret life as a spy that he had never revealed to anyone save Dumbledore and Amelia.

**Severus tells his story to Arista, but will she understand and accept his past? Coming up next!**


	8. The Secret Life of Severus Snape

**The Secret Life of Severus Snape**

"I became a spy for two reasons. The first, and the most important, was to atone for the part I played in the deaths of Lily and James Potter, more for Lily, who had once been my best friend, than James, though I owed him too, much as I hate to admit it. I had indirectly contributed to their deaths by overhearing a prophecy made by Trelawney—a prophecy that was made concerning the destruction of Voldemort by a child born at the end of July to parents who had thrice defied the Dark Lord. I reported the fragment I'd overheard to Lucius Malfoy, who in turn told Voldemort, and led him eventually to hunting down and killing the Potters and trying to kill Harry as well.

"The other reason was because I wanted to prove to myself that I was no one's pawn, especially not Voldemort's, who made the mistake of thinking I was his loyal servant, one that danced unerringly to his tune.

"I was well suited to life as a secret agent, for you see, I had led a double life since I could talk. My father, Tobias Snape, was a Muggle and my mother Eileen Prince was a witch. I grew up between two worlds, magical and ordinary, though one day I would choose to live mostly in the wizarding world. I moved here, to Spinner's End, when I was ten and a half, the summer before I started school at Hogwarts. My mother bought this house with the last of her savings, and it was here that I met Lily Evans. She lived in the gray stone house down the street, the one the Petersons live in now.

"Before all of that, we lived in a leaky tiny flat in Cheapside, little better than a shack. It was freezing in the winter and roasting in the summer, but it was all we could afford since my father drank away all our money every other night. He was a slave to his passions, and his greatest passion was drinking. His preferred poison was beer or gin, the cheaper the better, for then he could get more of it. I can count on one hand the times he was sober during my childhood.

"Though once my mother did say he promised her he would go straight, when they were first married. He was his family's black sheep, always in trouble with the law, I think that's why they disowned him, though I never dared to ask. My mother's family was an old pureblood one, and they cast her out when she married a Muggle instead of the wizard they'd picked out for her. She would marry for love or not at all, but the one she loved didn't love her half as much as she did him, the miserable bastard.

"We hadn't always been poor, in the beginning of their marriage my parents were happy, though I was too little to remember it. Then something happened, my father lost his job, he was too proud to ask for help from the government, and he turned to the bottle and never found his way out of it. I'd tell you how sorry I felt about it, but that would be lying. For Tobias Snape was a wicked man when he drank, with a temper like chained lightning, and a hand quicker than a serpent's strike.

"I inherited his nose, his height, and his temper, God help me, but that's all. Everything else, including my magic, I got from your grandmother Eileen. She was a lovely woman, black hair and dark eyes, not classically beautiful, but she drew the eye. And when she smiled, which wasn't much after she married him, she could charm the birds out of the trees. To this day, I wonder what the hell she ever saw in him, but whatever it was must have been pretty compelling, because she put up with more than anyone ever should have.

"He wanted us to lead an ordinary life, one without magic, and she wanted just the opposite, especially once she knew I was a wizard. They were always fighting about it, and half the time he'd end up using his fists on her and the argument would be over. Until the next time he caught her using magic or teaching me some little charm or telling me about anything to do with her world.

"Magic was the forbidden, only to be spoken of in whispers when he was passed out, or down at the pub, but never openly. It was a secret, she used to tell me, our secret. That was the first secret I ever kept. Though there were a few times I forgot, but only a few, because then I paid for it with the back of his hand or a stick.

"I quickly learned to be a Muggle boy around him, talking of ordinary things, like cricket and cars, when he was there to hear me, but alone with my mother I could be the wizard I was born to be. I went to a Muggle school, but I never dared to bring any friends home, I was too ashamed of where we lived and my father was always unpredictable, and he couldn't be trusted not to lash out if some kid shot his mouth off at the wrong time.

"Then, the summer I was ten, everything changed because of a letter. My acceptance letter from Hogwarts, delivered by snowy owl. My ticket out of the hell that was my life. It sparked off a huge row between them, with Tobias vowing he'd rather see me dead than go off to some freak school. To which I stupidly replied I'd rather be dead than have to live with him another minute, and I ended up with a broken jaw for my smart remark.

"But my mother had enough by then, ten years too much of his damn temper and his fists and she whipped out her wand and Stunned him, point blank. That was the only time she ever used her magic on him. Then she packed up everything we owned and we left. She took me to a Healer to mend my jaw and we moved to Spinner's End, where I could be free of his shadow at last, free to learn magic without fear.

"I met Lily and her sister Petunia that summer, and Lily and I became best friends. We spent a good deal of our time hiding from Petunia, who was a snotty little know-it-all and was forever telling on Lily when she used magic. I couldn't stand her, and she loathed me too, called me that sly scummy Snape boy. I threw a stick at her once for that and made her cry. Lily got mad at me for it, but then Petunia was mean to her too, so she forgave me. We called her Miss Prissy Pinch-faced Petunia, Poking her Nose into Everyone's Business because she was always spying on us trying to get us in trouble.

"I was at the Evanses house more than my own half the time, because my mother worked and was almost never home. That was the first time I ever saw what it was like to be around a normal family, without the drinking and screaming and hitting. I envied Lily something fierce, and her parents were always kind to me. Once, Lily invited me over for dinner, and Petunia said something like "How could you invite that scummy Severus Snape? He might give us all fleas! And he dresses like he was a ragpicker too." Mrs. Evans heard and sent her to her room without supper. And we all got chocolate cake and ice cream for dessert, as much as we wanted, and Tunie was stuck upstairs with nothing to eat save her fingernails.

"We were together so much that Mrs. Evans started calling us "Sev and Lil—two peas in a pod", God help us. Of course, Petunia then changed it to "Sev and Lil—two freaks from the circus", and screamed it at us whenever we did something she didn't like, like sticking all her records to the ceiling with magic. That was the best summer of my life, except for the one where I met Amelia.

"Then it was time to go off to Hogwarts, where once again, my life would change—for the better, I hoped. But right away, there were problems. Lily and I were Sorted into different Houses, and though we vowed to still be friends, it didn't last much past our fourth year. We grew apart after that, she was always more popular than I was, and I was a Slytherin and her Gryffindor friends sneered at me for it, saying I was bound to come to a bad end.

"Then too I was the target of overprivileged, rich snots like James Potter and Sirius Black, who enjoyed tormenting me the way Marsh and her friends tormented Drake Lockwood, every chance they got. Snivellus, they called me. I loathed them and the feeling was mutual, except in Remus Lupin's case, because Remus is too nice to hate anyone and he never liked what the others did to me. Then Black, Potter, and Pettigrew nearly got me killed in my fifth year by luring me into the Shrieking Shack while Remus was in werewolf form, only James got cold feet at the last second and pulled me back from the door, giving me time to run away before Remus bit me. It created an honor debt between us, one that I was bound to repay someday. I have never forgotten or forgiven them for that, they should have been expelled, but Albus was too merciful.

"I was known in school as a loner, too shy, too smart, and I had a nasty mouth on me from always being picked on, so needless to say, I had no real friends. I still saw Lily on occasion, and she defended me to Potter and Black, she didn't like them any better than I did. My one consolation was my magic and I studied endlessly, especially in Potions and Defense. I received top marks always in them, and my other subjects too.

"Then, just when I was considering a possible career as an Auror, my mother died. It was the beginning of my sixth year, she had been sick for a long time—a rare blood disease—no medicine, Muggle or wizard, could cure her. She'd known for years, but she hid it from me till the last. I tried everything I knew, all the potions I could find, but nothing worked. She died peacefully, however, and the Evanses came to the funeral.

"I was in shock, for I knew that without my mother I had no real family, since I refused to acknowledge my father, and I was barely sixteen. I can remember Lily saying to me afterwards, "Sev, I'm so sorry. But if you need to, you can come live with us."

"She meant well, but I snarled, "I don't need your charity, damn it!" and walked away.

"She followed me though. "It's not charity, Sev, I'm your friend, and God knows you need one."

"Just leave me alone, Lily!" I shouted at her.

"No. That's the last thing you need," she said, and then she hugged me and I cried all over her, me who hardly ever cried, having learned a long time ago that tears did no good.

"I think it was then that I fell in love with her, oh nothing like what I had with Amelia, but in its own way it was a powerful and meaningful thing. I was so lonely and she was the only one who cared. We started seeing each other more and things were nearly the way they were before, except I loved her as more than a friend. I could never tell her that, though, because I knew she would never have me, not when she could get a dozen other guys who were better looking and had more to offer her than I did. Still, I was content to admire her from afar and dream of what might be.

"Then along came Lucius Malfoy, who was also popular and well-liked, at least by all the ultra rich Slytherins, and he sensed that I was an easy mark, an introverted kid with more brains than sense, desperate to belong somewhere. Lucius, was, even then, a slick bastard. He could sweet talk you into selling your soul to the devil, which is exactly what he did to me. He became my friend, if one can ever call someone like him that, and so too did the others who hung around him—Avery, Lestrange, Mulciber, Narcissa and Bellatrix Black, Crabbe and Goyle. Future Death Eaters, all of them, most of them with mean streaks a kilometer long.

"Of course, I didn't know that then, all I knew was that Malfoy's crowd, who were popular and feared had accepted me as their own. No one dared to touch me when they were nearby, for they knew more curses than half the students and they didn't hesitate to use them. And at last I belonged somewhere.

"Not that I liked or agreed with most of them, they were all purebloods and they hated Muggleborns like Lily with a terrible passion. Thought they should be expelled and purged from society. I never let them know I was a half-blood, I knew all too well what would happen if they found out, but I never agreed with their ideas.

"I didn't understand the truth of what they were until the beginning of my seventh year, how twisted and evil they were, until Lucius invited me to a ceremony, where they invoked powers best left unnamed and pledged themselves to the Dark Lord. They called themselves Death Eaters, for they would swallow death and thus never die. I refused to take the Mark that night, saying I needed time to think it over. Actually, I was terrified and wanted to leave them, but I knew they'd never let me go. I knew too much about them, far too much.

"Then Lily Evans started going out with James Potter, the arrogant prat, of all people! I hated him then more than ever, for I knew he deserved her even less than I did, yet somehow he'd won her. It was the end of the fantasy I'd had of her someday coming to me and telling me she loved me—Severus Snape.

"I told myself I didn't care, but I lied. It had been a cherished dream of mine, and at seventeen dreams die hard. But I wasn't about to go running after her, begging for her regard like a puppy, oh no. I still had my pride—it was about the only thing I owned that wasn't in tatters.

"Bitter and angry, I allowed Lucius to sway me to his way of thinking, convince me that she wasn't worth my time, filthy Mudblood, and that was when he inducted me into the Death Eaters. He branded me with their Dark Mark that very night, and once that was done, there was no escape.

"But I vowed to never give into them totally. I had learned Occlumency as part of an advanced study course with Dumbledore and I was truly gifted in it. No one could read my mind unless I allowed it, not even the Dark Lord himself. I had learned during childhood to hide myself away, you see, and I could hide myself so deep that no one could find me unless I wished him to. I could shield my inner being from even Voldemort's mind probes, enough so that he couldn't dominate me the way he did the others. The others he controlled from the first, they belonged to him body, heart, and soul. Me, he had my body and a part of my heart, but my soul remained my own and he never even caught a glimpse of it.

"They needed my expertise with potions and I served them willingly, more fool I. I was with them for three years, until I learned of the prophecy that targeted James and Lily Potter. I had been sent to spy on Dumbledore and Trelawney, to find out what the Seer knew, if anything. But the prophecy I overheard was only partially correct, but it was enough to doom Lily and James and their son, whom Voldemort believed was going to be his downfall.

"Too late I realized what I had done, that Voldemort would be seeking to slay Lily's son and that she was in danger of being killed. I knew there was no way I could save the child, he was marked for death, but I begged Voldemort not to harm Lily. He smirked and said that perhaps he would be merciful, in recognition of the service I had done. "I'll give her to you, Snape, as a reward. You can have your own pet Mudblood if you want." He lied, he never meant to spare either of them.

"Then he went to Godric's Hollow, having found the Potters secret location because Pettigrew had betrayed them and the rest, as they say, is history. He killed Lily and James, but not before Lily worked a sacrifice charm of her own, protecting her son with her last breath and her last bit of magic. It was that which saved Harry Potter from the Killing Curse, rebounding it back on its caster.

"Afterwards, the Aurors were busy rounding up the Death Eaters, and they'd surely come for me next. Not that I cared, for I had destroyed the only person I had ever cared for. I couldn't stand myself. And I hated what I had become and what I had let them use me for. I hungered for revenge, to hurt them as they'd done me, and wanted to do something to atone for my part in Lily's death.

"So I went to Albus Dumbledore and told him everything. And he forgave me for it, God knows why. He also saw a way I could be of use to him. He needed a spy, someone who could be a shadow in the corner, unseen yet seeing all. I was perfect for what he needed, I was already known to them, already trusted by Lucius Malfoy, who had persuaded the Ministry that he was not a dark wizard and was allowed to walk free.

"So I agreed to be his spy, and he inducted me into the Order of the Phoenix, a much less painful thing than the Death Eaters. He also made me swear an Unbreakable Vow with him that I would fight Voldemort and all he stood for until I died. The Vow, he said, was for the others, not for himself. That didn't matter, I would have fought against them anyway.

"He told me to keep in touch with Lucius Malfoy, reassure him that I was still allied with him, and pass him false bits of information concocted by myself and Albus. He also offered me the job of Potions Master at Hogwarts, as a reward for my dangerous endeavors as his secret agent. I didn't want the position, God knew I had too many bad memories of the place to want to spend time there, and I'd never taught anything before and was sure I'd be terrible at it, but I needed money and this was a better option than I had otherwise.

"I mentioned to Lucius that I'd been instructed to take a job at Hogwarts by the Dark Lord before he died, to ask for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. I lied and told Lucius that Dumbledore had refused me for the position but had given me Potions instead. Lucius suggested I become his eyes and ears at Hogwarts, and learn all of Dumbledore's secrets, so when the Dark Lord returned, we could remove Dumbledore at our leisure.

"I agreed, like a good Death Eater, but I really wanted to laugh in his smug face for being so stupid. Dumbledore was more than a match for any ten Death Eaters, me included, he could stomp all of our asses into the ground without blinking an eye. He had been the only thing Voldemort feared more than death.

"All of that was after I had met your mother, however. Inbetween the time when I took the Unbreakable Vow and I started my covert activities as spy, I met Amelia in my secret glen and my life changed once more—this time for the better at last. To say she redeemed me from a bitter, angry recluse is putting it mildly. She was and always will be the very best thing that ever happened to me. The only thing that ever matched it is you, Arista. She was my second chance at love, at the life I had thrown away due to anger and fear and pride.

"Unlike the last time, I was determined not to waste it. Amelia was to Lily what the sun is to a campfire, and what I felt for her was likewise magnified. That spring and summer was the best one I had ever had, I was happier than I'd ever been in my life, and it was all due to one stubborn little Dark Hunter named Amelia Amarotti. She loved me in a way no one ever had, before or since, loved me as a man and a wizard, all of me, and I loved her the same way. My love for Lily was one-sided, and mostly selfish on my part, I saw that now. But Amelia was different. Amelia taught me to share myself, and in the end I gave her everything I was.

"Not that we didn't fight, because we did, she punched me in the jaw once because I ran my mouth off at her once too often, but we always forgave each other. Her love was what made me able to continue playing the game of covert operations. When she died . . .I was totally devastated. I nearly blew my cover with Lucius, I was so upset. Don't ask me how the hell I taught in the term that followed, because for the life of me I can't remember what I taught. And the worst of it was I couldn't tell anyone why I was so depressed, just mentioning her name hurt me horribly, and yet I couldn't forget her. I felt as if I'd cut out my heart and there was this gaping hole where it had been.

"I threw myself into my work with a vengeance, anything to help me forget what I no longer had, would never have again. I doubt if Albus ever had a more diligent spy than I was. I used every chance I had to get information from Lucius, we met in informal settings, a pub here, a dinner at his manor, a walk around Diagon Alley or something like that. Always at night, we sent messages back and forth with Nightfall in secret codes.

"I learned that Lucius planned on keeping the rest of the circle of Death Eaters alive and ready for the moment that the Dark Lord returned. There was little doubt in his mind that it would happen, the only question was when. Several of the old group of Death Eaters, like Bellatrix and her husband, had been put in Azkaban for life or were dead and lost to him. But Lucius wasn't daunted, he could always find another crazy who enjoyed blood and pain and who hated Muggles to recruit. Wrackspur was one of those who escaped the Ministry's hunt and he came back to the fold soon after Voldemort's demise.

"I kept careful watch on all who came back, and memorized all of their names and faces, so I could tell Albus later. He wrote them down in a little black book that he kept in a special place, known only to himself. The Order met infrequently, Remus is one of us, and of them he was the only one who really trusted me, despite Albus's reassurances. Well, him and the Weasleys, but then they practically worshipped the ground Albus walked on and if he said I was to be trusted, they trusted me.

"No one in the Order knew the actual nature of my work, that was a condition I had insisted upon from the beginning. The fewer people who know what I truly am, the fewer who can betray me by torture or Veritaserum. This way, the only life I placed in danger on a daily basis was my own, and right then I didn't consider my life worth much.

"I learned to create an altar persona, a mask I could slip on and off when I needed to, and that other Severus Snape wasn't a particularly nice person. He couldn't be and still maintain the fiction that he was a Death Eater. I used it even in my classroom, because sometimes the students really irritated me and this was a way I could get back at them without resorting to violence. I became strict and hard because that was what they needed to survive when Voldemort returned, and because that way was easier than caring.

"Years passed and by then my double life was so ingrained I couldn't imagine my life otherwise. I was a professor during the school term and a spy at any other time. Whenever we received rumors of some organization of Death Eaters or some kind of crime against Muggles by wizards, Albus sent me to investigate.

"We saved a lot of people that way, because I was able to trace the rumors to their source and see firsthand if they were real or not. And when they were, I informed Albus and the Order dealt with the dark ones. I dealt with more than a few myself, those who weren't well known and whom no one would miss.

"Then Harry Potter came to Hogwarts, and Dumbledore and half the staff regarded the boy as a savior, the one who was going to defeat the most powerful dark wizard ever seen in Britain. Frankly, I wasn't impressed. He was a dead ringer for James, and like his father he was reckless and arrogant, considering himself above authority.  
"I saw very little of Lily in him, and that saddened me, she had died to save him and yet he seemed to have inherited very little of her save for her eyes and a certain kindness towards those who were persecuted. And this is the one who will save us all? God help us all. He had no special talent in magic that I could see, except maybe catching a Snitch, again like his blasted father. And playing Quidditch wasn't going to help him fight Voldemort.

"Dumbledore came to me soon after he arrived and asked me what I thought, and I told him point blank that the boy wasn't ready and I doubted he ever would be. He lacks focus and determination, I said. "Push him then, Severus. See what he's made of. We need a sword and a sword needs to be tempered by fire first. You're the only one I can trust that will be tough on him, and yet not break him. I think he has a great potential, but it's hidden deeply and only adversity will bring it out."

"And you think I can do this? I asked skeptically. Albus laughed then. "You love playing the drill sergeant, Severus, and you know it. He's raw steel, I need him beaten into a sword we can use to cut Voldemort's heart out. You're the best man for the job, you can protect him better than anyone else, even Minerva, and challenge him at the same time. Make him into a hero, Severus. Then Lily's final sacrifice won't have been in vain."

"Albus knew just what buttons to push with me. He knew what Lily had meant to me, and how to use the guilt I still felt to motivate me. I didn't like all of what I had to do to the kid, but it was necessary, for only those strong in will survive Voldemort. And yes, there were times, like with that stupid flying car of Arthur's, that I thought the damn kid needs his ass kicked good and it's too bad I'm not his father. Reckless and impulsive is going to get him killed and all the rest of us too. I did all Albus asked of me and then some. I just hope it's been enough. But just in case Potter fails us, we have a backup plan.

"That's what I was doing this week, making sure the backup plan was still in place, because I still have my doubts about Potter. He's linked somehow to Voldemort's mind and I don't like that at all. It's too easy for him to give us away. And lately, Lucius is becoming more and more suspicious, questioning me more closely about you, Arista. He wants to know exactly what sort of Healing power you have and how strong it is, and I've been evading the question for weeks, because the last thing I want is for the bastard to think you're a threat to him or his dark master. He goes after you and all bets are off. I'll shatter my masquerade to pieces if it means protecting you, orders or no orders. Then Lucius will see the real Severus Snape all right." Severus said grimly. "I had just gotten him away from you and focused on Potter again, when I come home and find you've been out hunting down Death Eaters, which was exactly the kind of thing I was trying to avoid happening." He favored her with a stern glare.

"Sorry, Dad. But I'll be more careful now that I know what's going on," she promised.

"So now you know the truth, which is something only I've only told to two other people in my life. One was your mother. The other, as I'm sure you've guessed, is Albus Dumbledore. Does it change anything, Arista mine?"

"Yeah, it does," she said, and he stiffened. Then she added, "Now I can finally stop wondering what the heck you're doing when you leave for a week or a few days at a time."

"Then it doesn't bother you that I was once a Death Eater?"

She shook her head. "No. Everyone's stupid once in their life, right?" she said softly. "Besides, it's what you are now that counts. And I think you're the awesomest dad ever."

"Oh, you do, huh?"

"Uh-huh. And I'm proud to be your daughter," she said sincerely, then she hugged him.

He hugged her back, then released her and eyed her skeptically. "Do you really mean that, or are you trying to flatter me so you can get out of being grounded?"

"Dad! Of course I mean it. But, well, I would like to not be locked in my room for the rest of the summer either," she admitted, giving him a pleading look.

"Oh, quit giving me puppy dog eyes, young lady. Much as you deserve to be punished for the rest of the summer just the way you said, I won't do it this time. Because your own guilt over disobeying me and fearcasting Wrackspur is a more severe punishment than anything I could come up with. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir." Arista replied and meant it. He knew her too well. She would bear the guilt for her actions for far longer than a month. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you too," he smiled at her. Then he picked up his wand and cancelled the Muffliato spell. "Now why don't you go downstairs and tell Trish the good news, because she's not grounded either. And let your friends see you're still in one piece, I think they expected me to dismantle you or something."

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" Arista chuckled. Then she looked at him and asked, "Did you and Mom share a soulbond?"

Slowly, Severus nodded. "We did, though she never told me about it until she had left for America. Said she didn't want me to think I'd been enspelled or anything. I told her she was ridiculous, that love spells were nothing compared to this, and I loved her before the soulbond and would have anyway. Does that answer all of your questions, Miss Curiosity?"

"For today, yeah," she laughed, then skipped down the stairs, leaving her rather bemused father staring after her.

He hadn't intended to reveal so much to her, but then she was an empath and one naturally told an empath what was bothering them, and it had evidently bothered him keeping secrets from her. Oh well, she was bound to find out eventually, and forewarned is forearmed, he thought.


	9. Impenetrable Defense

**Part Two--A Different Kind of 6th Year**

**Chapter 9--Impenetrable Defense**

**One month later, Hogwarts**:

Arista, Mel, and the rest of the sixth and seventh year Ravenclaws filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and sat quietly at their desks. They were paired this year with the Slytherins, one of whom was Drake Lockwood. When he caught sight of Arista and Mel, he moved a seat over so he was near them.

"Getting up close and personal with your girlfriend, Lockwood?" drawled James Hathaway, he was Brittany Marsh's current boyfriend and an old nemesis of Drake's from long ago.

Drake flashed him an irritated glare. "Shove off, Hathaway."

Hathaway grinned mockingly, his white teeth startling against his tan face. He was extremely good-looking, one of the reasons he was Marsh's boyfriend. The other was because he had a mean streak as bad as hers and didn't mind intimidating younger students. He'd been Drake's chief tormentor back in the days when he stuttered uncontrollably and was easy prey for the other boy's jinxes and hexes.

"Gonna hold hands with Arista, Lockwood?" the older boy continued. "Better watch it, though, 'cause if her old man sees there won't be enough of you left over to fit in a matchbox."

Marsh and several of her crowd snickered at Hathaway's comment.

Drake ignored them, rolling his eyes. Though neither he nor Arista had ever declared they were seeing each other, somehow rumors had gotten started and now the whole school assumed they were dating. Not that Drake minded all that much, but he still hadn't managed to get Arista alone to ask her if she wanted to go out with him, and the stupid rumors weren't helping him any.

"Hi," he said, sliding into the seat next to Arista. "You ready for your dad's first lesson?"

"Can't wait," she answered, smiling back at him. "I'm so glad Dumbledore finally relented and gave him this position this year. He's the best one for the job, you know. And he was so happy about it."

"I'm glad too. Finally we've got someone who actually knows what he's doing, and who's not an idiot, crazy, possessed, under a curse, or an evil old hag. Maybe this year we'll learn how to really fight, and do some good for once." Drake said eagerly.

"Hey, did you get your OWL scores back yet, Drake?" Mel asked, from Arista's other side.

"Yeah. I got O's in everything except Divination, you know that's a joke anyhow, unless you've got Sight for real. The examiner only gave me an E. But I got top marks in everything that matters, like Defense and Potions and Charms. How about you two?"

"I got five O's and two E's," Mel replied. "My mother was ecstatic, she says that's the first time anybody in my family's gotten such high marks. Aunt Pomona was real happy too, especially since I got an O in Herbology. I don't know why she's so amazed, she's been teaching me about magical plants and stuff since I was a toddler."

"Did you tell them about your, uh, new talent?" Drake asked softly.

Mel nodded. "They weren't as shocked as I thought they'd be. My dad actually seemed kind of happy. He said that my ability was common in his family a long time ago, until the reign of James I, when it became dangerous to have it, and witches with it were hunted down and killed for being devil-touched. After that, it was hidden away, and no one ever spoke of it."

"Better safe than sorry," Arista said. Then she looked at Drake. "Aren't you going to ask me what I got on my OWLs?"

"Don't need to ask you that, Arista," he laughed. "'Cause I know darn well you aced them. Got all Outstandings, am I right, professor's daughter?"

"Yes. Dad was breathing down my neck when the results came. He didn't say much, but I knew he was pleased. And Trish did well too, she got all O's and one E, in History of Magic, and who cares about that one?"

"Professor Binns," Mel said with a smirk.

"Did that pegasus mare foal yet, Drake?" Arista asked.

"Yeah, and you should see the colt. He's beautiful, all silver with a white mane and tail like stardust. His wings are white speckled with silver. That's what I'd call him, if we were allowed to name him—Stardust. The mare had an easy delivery too. Her owner's coming to pick them up in two weeks."

"Bummer. I'd of liked to see him," sighed Arista.

"You can. We took pictures. I'll show you them later." Drake said and suddenly all talking ceased as Professor Snape walked into the classroom.

He wore his usual black ensemble, but his usual forbidding scowl was absent. He walked over to stand in front of his desk and waved his wand at their desks. All their textbooks shut themselves with a snap. "Put away your books, you won't be needing them much this term. What I am about to teach you won't be found in any book."

Draco Malfoy raised his hand. "Sir, will we actually be learning spells this year? Because last year Professor Umbridge refused to teach us any magic at all."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Malfoy, you will be learning spells. Professor Umbridge's teaching methods left a great deal to be desired, among other things," Snape said with a frown . "Since this course is optional, I trust you are all ready to work. I do not tolerate shirkers in NEWT level Defense, it requires the most intense concentration, so if you have a problem with that, I suggest you rearrange your schedule. What you will learn here may one day save your life, or get you killed, if you grow careless."

The class was still as mice, totally absorbed in his words. He pointed his wand at the board. "Impenetrable Defense. That is the single most important thing you will learn." The words wrote themselves on the board. "Do any of you know what that means?"

A few hands shot up, among them Drake's and Arista's. Snape scanned the room. "Lockwood, what do those words mean?"

"An impenetrable defense is one that cannot be penetrated, sir."

"Correct. Do any of you know of any defensive magic that could be called an impenetrable defense?"

No one answered for a moment. Arista was thinking hard. _It's a trick question. There's no such spell that is entirely foolproof. But what if he's not talking about a spell? What if it's something else entirely? _She put her tongue between her teeth, trying to recall where she'd read that phrase before. An instant later she remembered and her hand shot up.

"Yes, Miss Snape?"

"There is no magical spell that will make an impenetrable defense, sir. It's impossible, all spells can be countered. But an impenetrable defense doesn't have to be magical in nature. It can be an idea, such as know your enemy. Knowing your enemy is an impenetrable defense because once you have knowledge of your enemy's weaknesses, you can use it to defeat him. It can't be blocked or deflected or countered."

He gave her a nod of approval. "You are essentially correct, Miss Snape. Knowing your enemy is half the battle right there, and it is something that cannot be countered. Knowledge is power, and to seek knowledge is a wizard's primary objective. Defeating an opponent need not come down to who knows the most curses or has the greater experience in a duel. Defeating an opponent comes down to one simple thing—know your enemy. Learn his weaknesses, and more importantly, his strengths. Then figure out a way to use what you've learned to bring him down."

The students busily scribbled notes in their notebooks. He gave them a few minutes then continued. "The dark wizards and creatures you will face are not all of a piece. Darkness is ever changing and shifting, it can be anywhere. In order to fight it you must be adaptable, able to adjust in a split second to meet it. That is part of what I will be teaching you, how to react quickly in an unexpected situation. You may not necessarily know the counter to every jinx or hex cast at you, but if you are quick enough, you can avoid being harmed. I think a small demonstration is in order." He pointed at Drake. "Mr. Lockwood, up here."

Drake rose and came to stand at one end of the dueling stage. "Wand at the ready," Snape ordered, standing opposite him, his ebony wand out. "Cast something at me, Lockwood."

Drake looked uneasy, then he narrowed his eyes and breathed in and out once, focusing himself. "Stupefy!" he cried and his wand shot out a bolt of red light at his teacher.

Who was no longer there, but had dodged the Stunning Hex neatly, moving to the side so quickly the students watching could barely follow it. Then he cast a spell of his own. "Arciae arctica!"

A bright blue jet shot out of his wand and Drake tried to move out of the way, but was not quite fast enough. The blue arrow hit him in the leg and he toppled over, his leg encased in a block of ice.

Hathaway tittered, but shut up when Snape glared at him. "You find this amusing, Hathaway?"

"No sir," he said quickly, wary of his instructor's temper.

"Then wipe that smirk off your face," Snape growled. Then he gestured at Drake, who was sitting up cautiously. "Reaction. Though he tried, Mr. Lockwood could not react quick enough to avoid my spell. And now he is hampered by a frozen leg, which cuts down on mobility and is demoralizing as well."

Snape waved his wand. "Reversario."

Drake climbed to his feet as the block of ice vanished. "Take your seat, Lockwood." Snape waved him away. "All right. Hathaway, since you think you can do better than Mr. Lockwood, you can try me next. Front and center."

Suddenly Hathaway looked a whole lot less smug. Gulping audibly, he drew his wand and came up onto the stage, facing his teacher. "Begin," Snape ordered crisply.

Hathaway tried a Jellylegs jinx, one of his favorite spells, but Snape avoided it with a flick of his wand. Then he cast a disarming charm that set the arrogant boy flying halfway across the room. "Too slow, Hathaway! Why were you just standing there like a statue? Plan on posing for a picture?" Several of the Ravenclaws snickered.

Hathaway climbed stiffly to his feet, redfaced. "React, and quickly, before your enemy has time to take you out. Who's next?" He indicated Hathaway was to sit down. "Come on, now's your chance to get back at me for failing you in Potions last term. One shot."

One by one, all of them came up and attacked him, and one by one he defeated them without blinking, sometimes using magic and sometimes not.

"It's not fair," Hailey Anderson whined after he'd deflected her Stinging Hex and knocked her down with a gust of wind. "You know more than we do, how can we ever beat you?"

Snape scowled at her and she quivered. "Neither is life, Anderson, so best get used to it. Are you going to whine to a Death Eater that comes knocking on your door that it isn't fair and hope he'll take pity on you? He'll laugh in your face and kill you in two seconds. Most of the enemies you'll face will be bigger, stronger, and know more spells than you do. How do you win? By being smarter than they are. Knowledge and reaction. That's your strength. Now quit whining, Anderson. Who's next?"

Only Arista managed to last more than one round against him, and that was because she did not attempt to go on the offensive like the rest of them. Colin had drilled her endlessly in setting up a defensive ward before attacking, and when she faced her father, she cast a Shield Charm first.

That blocked the Furnunculus he threw at her, allowing her time to cast a Slippery Hex at him, though he deflected it back at her with a lazy half-circle. "You're telegraphing too much, Miss Snape!" he barked.

She performed Whirlwind Deflection and his curse bounced off to hit the wall and fizzled.

"Not bad. Did all of you see what she did that was different? She defended first. That's the name of this game, survival. You may know half a dozen curses but they'll do you no good if your opponent nails you before you can speak a word. Ten points for Ravenclaw, Snape, for your foresight."

The morning passed in a blur, and before they knew it the hour and a half was up. "Homework. Write an essay detailing four ways you could have defeated me based on my little demonstration. Dismissed."

It was a much more thoughtful and subdued group of students that left the classroom that day. As she gathered up her bookbag, Arista heard Malfoy mutter to Hathaway, "I never knew he was so good at combat spells."

"Bloody amazing, isn't it?" remarked Devon Johnson. "He really knows his stuff, huh, Malfoy?"

Malfoy nodded, rubbing at a bruise he'd gotten during his own attempt to disarm the professor. For some reason he seemed less than pleased about that. But he said nothing and left the room.

Arista hid a grin. That's my dad, he's the best at what he does, she thought proudly, then gave him a thumbs up sign as she went past his desk on her way out the door. "Great lesson, sir."

Severus winked at her. "I borrowed a page from Hunter Flynn's book. See you at dinner, Arista."

At lunch, most of the students were discussing Snape's class, apparently he'd impressed quite a few of them with his little demonstrations. "I was like, bloody hell, knocked halfway across the room before I even got my wand out," she heard Hathaway whining to Marsh.

"I never knew he could move so fast," murmured Dean Thomas. "Like a snake striking."

"Well, he is a Slytherin, Thomas," remarked Ron. "Still, it was a better lesson than I expected. One thing I will say for him, he knows what he's doing, unlike Umbridge and Lockhart."

The general consensus was that their first object lesson with Snape had gone over well. Of course, there were always a few who thought they'd been treated unfairly.

"I'm going to have a bruise the size of Dover on my bum thanks to the git's Disarming Charm," growled Marsh, who was convinced Snape had it in for her ever since she'd gotten into trouble fighting Arista two years ago.

"Isn't there a rule that says you're not supposed to use combat spells in the classroom?" asked Lavender Brown.

"Oh, come on, Lav, it's Defense Against the Dark Arts, not knitting," Ginny snorted.

"I know, but still . . .someone could get hurt."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "He wasn't using his full strength on you, Lav. And isn't that the point, to prepare us for anything?"

"Since when do you defend Snape, Ginny?"

"Since he gave Pansy Parkinson a nose like an elephant," she answered. "Cho told me about their lesson this morning. He may not be the nicest person, but even you have to admit he's good at this kind of thing."

"Good at knocking the stuffing out of you, sure," Lavender said sourly. "If my mother ever knew what was going on, she'd throw a fit."

"Don't be such a sourpuss. Why'd you take it then, if you didn't want to learn how to defend yourself?"

Lavender's reply was soon lost in the general hubbub.

That first lesson set the tone for all of the previous ones, and most of the time Severus taught using Dark Hunter methods, using practical scenarios rather than textbook examples, trying to prepare his students for the day when they would actually need to face a dark wizard in combat. Now that it was officially accepted that Voldemort had returned, his first priority was to teach the students how to survive, and thus he pushed them to the limit.

He taught them several kinds of spells that were not exactly Ministry approved, such as Whirlwind Deflection, Shadow feint, and Ricochet, all designed to block and reflect a curse back on the caster. "Use your enemy's own magic against him. He won't be expecting that, most times, and an enemy caught off guard is an enemy vulnerable. Use your head and you just might survive to fight another day. Again, and for Merlin's sake, concentrate, you should have learned to pay attention in preschool, I'd think."

One lesson was entirely devoted to recognizing certain common offensive spells and knowing the counters to them. "Learn how to block first, then you can learn to attack," he lectured sternly. "You can know all the offensive spells in the world, but they won't do you a bit of good if you're dead because you never learned how to deflect a curse."

He paired them off mostly every class with a different partner. He tried to place them in pairs they normally wouldn't form themselves, with kids neither of them liked, so they would focus harder and be more alert. Thus he matched Brittany with either Mel or Arista, Hathaway with Drake, and so on. His instructions when they were paired were simple, one partner defends and the other attacks, no seriously harmful curses allowed.

Montague was the first to try and get past that rule, casting a Burning Hex on Cho Chang, who luckily knew the counter to it and thus barely got singed. Snape was livid, however. "Montague, did I or did not say no incendiary curses were to be used against your partner?" he growled, coming to loom over the Slytherin, who looked utterly startled.

"Sir, I didn't—it was a Stinging Hex," he sputtered.

"Do you think I was born yesterday, Montague? I know a Burning Hex when I see one. Does the word no mean something different to you than the rest of the world? Ten points from Slytherin and you'll stay after class with me and we'll go over simple directions again, since your brain's forgotten them."

Montague gaped at him stupidly. Snape whirled on the rest of the class. "Listen up, because this is the only warning you will get from me. Incendiary curses and crippling curses are strictly forbidden at this time. Anyone breaking that rule will get immediate detention and thirty points taken away. I'm not playing games here."

Thereafter he kept strict watch on those students who were prone to casting dirty hexes like that, though after hearing of Montague's punishment (he'd been made to duel a practice dummy until he was so exhausted he couldn't stand up), no one dared to test Snape in that fashion ever again.

In addition to the dueling practice, they also had to study various kinds of jinxes and curses and how to counter them and Snape was fond of throwing in surprise quizzes at any given lesson, so they had to be on their toes nearly every class. Even so, most students agreed that this year was the best they'd ever had in Defense, because they could actually see results.

Though certain students, like Brittany, were inclined to complain about the workload. Last double session, she'd been paired with Arista for dueling practice, and she discovered much to her chagrin that Arista knew how to duel better than she did.

Four out of five times, Arista drew her wand quicker and blocked every curse Brittany threw at her. Frustrated, the Slytherin Beater gave her a glare that could have slain her on the spot and snarled, "You must be cheating, Snape, no one can be that good."

"Practice makes perfect, Marsh."

"That so? Then how about I practice smashing my fist down your throat?" Brittany threatened.

"You can try. But if your fist's as slow as your wand, I'll be out of the way before you can move an inch."

Brittany started forward, her eyes lighting with the need to pound something, and Arista pointed her wand at the other girl, the words to a Stunning Hex on her lips.

Severus had been watching, however, and interceded before it went too far. "Is there a problem here, Marsh?"

Brittany dropped her hand to her side quickly. "Professor, she keeps winning every match, I think she's cheating. I think she's exchanged her wand for a combat-spelled version."

"In your dreams, Brittany. I don't need a combat-spelled wand to take you," Arista cried. "Only inept idiots like you need to cheat that way."

"May I see your wand, Miss Snape?"

Arista gaped at him. "Sir! You don't really believe her?"

"Your wand, please," Severus repeated, holding out his hand.

Arista handed him her rowan wand. Snape held it out, muttered a detection charm, and waited to see what happened. The wand remained normal. "This is no combat wand, Marsh." He handed Arista the wand back. "Now quit sniveling like a three-year-old and concentrate harder. If you spent the same time on defensive spells as you do on your manicure, Marsh, you'd be a master by now."

"If this were Quidditch, I could take her easy!" Marsh muttered balefully.

"Less talk and more practice, Marsh!" Snape barked. "Now get that wand up."

"Yes, sir," she said sullenly, and obeyed, looking as if she wished both her professor and his daughter were suffering the Cruciatus Curse.

Arista hid a smirk and raised her own wand.

* * * * * *  
By the end of the first month, Snape began keeping a chart of those students who performed exceptionally well during the duels. Arista, Mel, Drake, Kit, and Trish were consistently in the top ten slots, along with Harry, Ginny, Ron, Malfoy, and a few others. Marsh and Hathaway were somewhere near the bottom, a fact which irked them to no end, for they were not accustomed to being shown up so publicly.

One day she got together with Montague, Hathaway, Bulstrode and a few others in her little court and decided to teach the SR's a lesson about embarrassing them in front of the whole school. Or at least, that's what she intended to happen.

Fifteen minutes later, the only ones still standing were Trish, Arista, Kit, Drake, and Mel. Mel examined the unconscious group of Slytherins and snorted. "Huh. When will they ever learn?" She dusted off her hands on her robes. "How many times does this make that we've kicked their arses to Surrey and back by now?"

"Thirty-three, I think," Kit answered. "It's getting old."

"They've got one-track minds," Drake said.

"They're getting better though," Trish remarked, and they all stared at her. "I mean, this time Bulstrode actually managed to cast a Butterfingers Hex correctly."

"And this time they lasted an extra two minutes," Arista added.

"Well, you know what Snape always says. Practice makes perfect." Drake snickered, nudging the comatose Hathaway with his foot. "Guess they just didn't figure on getting so much extra practice though."

"I think that's they only way they can learn something, by having it pounded into their thick skulls over and over," Arista sighed. "Come on, let's get out of here before somebody spots us."

They quickly left Marsh and crew lying in various poses on the cold hard ground near the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid would find them, no doubt, and revive them.

"You know, they'd have a better chance at defeating us if they'd just learn to cooperate," Drake commented, walking alongside of Arista on the way to their Transfiguration class. "But they keep getting in each other's way. I mean, Hathaway and Montague both tried to curse me at the same time, and I Ricocheted it back and caught both of them with the other's hex. Pretty dumb of them."

"Well, maybe next time, you can suggest that they take turns, Drake," Arista said, her eyes twinkling.

"What? And ruin all my fun?" he shot back. "I've got four years of payback coming to me, they can suffer a bit longer. Humility's good for the soul."

Arista laughed. "You're something else, Drake."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

She eyed him thoughtfully. "It's a good thing." Then she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the mouth. It was pure impulse, she'd been planning to get him alone for a long time so she could tell him how she felt, but there never seemed a moment when they could steal away somewhere.

Drake's eyes widened as he realized what had just occurred. Then he grinned and said softly, "Does that mean what I think it does, Arista?"

She nodded, and in her eyes was an unmistakable glow.

"Good. Then I can do this without fear that you'll kick my teeth down my throat," he said, and took her in his arms and kissed her back.

It was electric, the touch of his lips on hers, and the soulbond flared to life immediately, linking them. She could feel his every emotion and he could feel hers. It left them dizzy and breathless, and when they drew away at last, all Drake could do was gasp in shock.

"Arista, what the hell just happened there?"

"I linked with you. That's what happens when you kiss an empath who's soulbonded to you, Drake."

"You're what? What's a soulbond?"

"I can't explain right now, we're gonna be late for class. But I promise I will later on, after supper," she said, blushing slightly. "If it bothers you, I won't touch you again until I'm shielded."

"Did I say I was bothered by it? Good God, it was the most incredible thing ever!" He sighed reluctantly. "Too bad I hate getting detention, otherwise I'd cut class and we could, uh, discuss this soulbond thing right now."

She grinned at him. "Control yourself, Lockwood." Then she gave him her hand and they walked to class with their fingers entwined, reveling in their newfound passion for each other.

**yes, the romance between Drake & Arista heats up! What will Sev think??**

**How did you like the improved defense lesson?**


	10. Revelations

**Revelations**

Later that afternoon, Drake and Arista met in the clearing in the Forbidden Forest where the SR's practiced self-defense. Arista still held sessions there, but much less frequently since her father started teaching Defense. Snape was an excellent teacher and the only thing that Arista knew that he didn't was martial arts, so they still practiced that, and brushed up on spells that were proving difficult for one or the other of them.

Right then, however, there were other matters on her mind. She seated herself on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing. The log had been one of the first things they'd levitated using combination magic and they had kept it there as a small reminder of their success.

Drake seated himself next to her, first removing his robes and tossing them over the log. "Too hot for them," he said, and undid the top button of his shirt and removed his tie as well.

Arista had changed after her class and so was already comfortable enough. "It is really warm for this time of year up here," she agreed. It was the middle of October, and usually by this time the weather in the Highlands was nippy and chill. This year however, it was unseasonably warm for some odd reason. "Remember how we all levitated the log two years ago?"

He nodded, smiling. "Yeah, and that was pretty amazing then. We can do a lot more now, though." With practice, the SR's could now cast several defensive and offensive spells using combination magic, and casting that way was nearly second nature now. Ever since Voldemort's return, they'd been practicing longer with it, pushing themselves, for all of them thought the day was coming soon when their special method was going to be needed to fight the Death Eaters.

"We're going to need it one day," Arista predicted. "Anything to give us an edge against Voldy."

"Right. But you didn't bring me here to discuss strategy, did you?" he asked softly, looking right into her dark eyes. She shook her head. "Will you tell me about this soulbond? I'm guessing it's something only an empath can do, right?"

"Yes," Arista affirmed. She coughed slightly, then cleared her throat, uncertain how to proceed. At last she decided to just tell him straight out and let him draw his own conclusions. "A soulbond is like a stronger version of the empathic link I use when we're casting combination spells. Only it exists between two people, not five, and it's forever. An empath can soulbond only once in her life, and when she does it means she's found the person who is . . .her exact match, I guess you could say. The bond links them, mind to mind, soul to soul, with mental threads so strong that not even death can separate them."

"And that's what you think we share?" he repeated incredulously.

"Not think, Drake. I know. It wasn't planned or anything, what happened," she twisted her hands nervously in her hair. "It happened last summer, when I healed you after your broom was hexed. Even though I was shielded, my empathy bound us together. And that can only happen if our souls were matched to begin with. All the other times I've healed people, I've never bonded to them, not even Fireflash when he was nearly dead. It wasn't something I could control, Drake, I'd _never_ bind anybody against his will."

"When did you realize that's what happened?"

"Just before we went to help the Tower ghosts, I realized I could almost always feel you in the back of my head. The link never fades, I can always sense you, shielded or not, near or far. That's one of the good things about a soulbonded pair, you always know if your partner is in trouble or not and to a certain extent what he or she's feeling. It's a rare thing, even among empaths, and once it occurs it can't be broken."

"What if one partner dies?"

"That doesn't matter. A soulbond transcends death. Souls can't die, Drake. Only the body can. My dad shared a soulbond with my mom, or so he told me. That's why in fifteen years he's never so much as looked at another woman. Because no other woman could ever replace my mother. When a partner dies, it leaves a wound of the spirit that even time can't mend. He told me once that Mom's death was the single most painful thing he's ever experienced and without her he was incomplete and nothing on earth could fill the empty hole in his heart. He also said that sometimes he can almost hear my mother's voice whispering advice into his ear and in dreams she always comes to him. That fits with what I've read about soulbonds, for in dreams your consciousness touches on the spirit realm, and souls can meet there, if you know how to travel it. My mom did, she was a master empath, and my dad's no novice either when it comes to mind disciplines."

Drake whistled softly. "Good God, Arista! If the bond's that powerful, how did he manage to keep on living after she died?"

"It wasn't easy. Most partners choose to follow their beloved into death, they can't cope with the loss. Or else they go mad from grief. My dad . . .I think part of what kept him sane was the fact that Mom's murderer was still out there, and he wanted revenge on her. He's also one of the stubbornest and strong-willed men I've ever known and that helped a lot." She also knew that one other factor was his Unbreakable Vow with Dumbledore and his secret activities as a spy, but she couldn't tell Drake about that, Severus had told her in strictest confidence and she would never betray his trust. The soulbond was also how I was able to call her back from the dead that time, when we faced Nightshade. "I doubt if I could do what he did."

"Me either." Drake said honestly.

"One other thing. Just because we're soulbonded doesn't mean you have to love me, Drake. It's not like a love potion, that makes you obsessed with me or anything."

"Yeah, but it usually follows that if you're soulbonded, you normally do have strong feelings for each other, right? I mean, you'd never soulbond with your worst enemy. So . . ." he drew in a deep breath. " . . .then it shouldn't surprise you when I tell you that I love you. I think I've been in love with you since last summer, even before you healed me. Only I . . .was afraid to tell you because I wasn't sure you felt the same way and I didn't want to ruin our friendship . . .and well . . .Now though, I guess I don't have to worry anymore."

"You don't," she reassured him, giving him a smile that made her face glow with an inner beauty that was breathtaking. "I've always loved you, Drake, from maybe the first day I saw you."

He made a face. "Ugh! I was facedown in the dirt being tormented by Marsh and company. I must have looked like a scruffy stray. How could you say you loved me then?"

"I've always had a soft spot for strays, Drake. Especially for ones that keep fighting even when the odds are a hundred to one. Marsh might have gotten you down, but you weren't beaten."

"How do you figure that, Arista? I was getting my butt kicked royally from where I was sitting."

"Physically, yeah. But not in spirit. And that's what drew me to you. You were still fighting even without a wand, helpless, but you didn't give up. I admire that in a man."

"Was that why you helped me?"

"Partly. But it was also because I detest bullies like Marsh and her friends, who think they've got the right to hurt people because they're rich and powerful. I'd been avoiding her for weeks, but when I saw what she did to you . . .make that felt what she did to you, 'cause that's how I found where she was, by feeling what she did to you . . .I couldn't let it go. I had to do something, so I challenged her."

Drake looked thoughtful. "You felt me, you said. D'you think the soulbond was active then?"

"Hmm. It might have started to waken then, I never thought about it that way before. After I felt your pain, I got mad and that's when I went after Brittany. I wasn't analyzing my feelings for you, I just lost my temper when I saw what she was doing and the fact that everyone else there was just watching and not caring."

"I was the entertainment of the day," Drake said with a bitter smile. "It was funny to watch Marsh teasing me, since if she was tormenting Lockwood she wouldn't be coming after the rest of them. And I was such an easy target, because I couldn't say two words without stuttering, and people thought I was an imbecile because of it. Who wants to be friends with somebody like that?"

"I do. Then and always. You're worth twenty of Marsh and Hathaway any day of the week. All they've got is flash and looks, but underneath they've no more substance than a soap bubble. But you, Drake Lockwood, you've got integrity and honor and compassion. You know what impressed me the most about you that day, besides your stubbornness?"

"What?"

"The fact that you didn't resent a girl trying to rescue you. Most guys would have hated me for that, or been too embarrassed to speak to me afterwards or something."

"Now that would've been plain stupid, seeing as how a girl kicked the crap out of me in the first place." Drake chuckled. "By then I had almost no pride left, and you sticking up for me was one of the nicest things anybody had ever done for me. Like I said before, most everyone else just got out of Marsh's way when she went for someone, they were afraid of her, afraid they'd be next. I couldn't really blame them, you know how nasty she is. Then you show up, half her size, the new kid no less, and you pick a fight with her. Now that was impressive, Arista Snape."

"Too bad I lost."

"You would've won, I think, if Marsh's friends hadn't cheated and strangled you like the backstabbing scum they are." Drake pointed out. "Now how on earth could I resent you after that? If you'll recall, you were bleeding all over and looked worse than I did, but even then you had a look in your eye that said next time you were gonna kick some ass and take names too. And I thought, wow, she's something else and maybe if I'm really lucky, I can get to know her better. I sure as hell wasn't going to screw up my chances at a friend by being insulting, that's for sure." His hand moved up to caress her cheek. "In a way I should thank the Marsh Maid, because if it weren't for her, I'd have never met you or Mel, Trish, and Kit."

"Maybe that's the reason she was born," Arista drawled. "To bring us together."

Drake raised an eyebrow. "If that's the case, then all the damn hexes she cast on me were worth it. Because I'd be a miserable bastard without my best friends and the love of my life." He smiled tenderly down at her. "I love you so very much, Arista. Anything you want, you only have to ask and if I can give to you, it's yours."

"You've already given me everything I want, Drake," she murmured into his ear. "Your heart and soul belong to me, as mine does to you. Forever and always." Her lips were inches from his own. "But there is one thing I want from you."

"Name it."

"Kiss me, Drake."

"I thought you'd never ask," he grinned and pulled her into his arms, kissing her slowly and gently.

As their mouths met, the bond between them flared into life, and suddenly both of them could feel the other, feel all the passion and tenderness and love they bore the other, openly without shame or fear. It was like wildfire, like lightning, all consuming and unforgettable.

"Don't stop," she murmured against his mouth when he would have drawn away.

"Wasn't going to," he answered, and kissed her back, even more fervently than before.

At last they halted, gasping for breath, and grinning like idiots at each other.

"I've never felt anything like that before!" he exclaimed.

"Neither have I," she admitted. "And that was only from one kiss. If this is how a soulbond intensifies feelings . . ."

"Heaven help the landlord on our wedding night," Drake said huskily. "He might not have a bed left after we're done."

"_Drake_!" Arista cried, then burst out laughing. "God, but you're right. Ours will be anything but a normal relationship, if that kiss was anything to go by."

"I'd better start shopping around for a ring. Too bad I can't make one for you, the way your dad made your mom's locket."

"That's okay. I'm sure whatever you pick out, I'll love it."

"Good, because you're going to have it on your finger a long time, Arista sweetheart. Much as I hate to, I think we should wait until we graduate to get married."

Arista nodded. "Yes, that makes sense." She sighed. "I know two years isn't really that long . . .but some days, it's gonna feel like an eternity. Although maybe that's a good thing, since it might take that long for my dad to reconcile himself to you, Lockwood."

"Maybe and maybe not."

"What makes you say that?"

"It didn't take him that long for him to agree to let me take you to the Yule Ball."

"Drake, that was one dance, and he was, like, chaperoning it for crying out loud! But this is totally different, this is for the rest of our lives, till death do us part and all that! He's not going to take this calmly, Drake, I'm his only daughter, and all fathers are overprotective of their daughters, especially mine."

"I think you're making a mountain out of a molehill, Arista."

"Yeah? We'll see what you say after you tell him you want to marry me and see if you walk away with everything still attached to you. You're forgetting, this is Severus Snape we're talking about here, and no man will ever be good enough for his little girl."

"The soulbond says otherwise, Arista Snape." Drake argued. "And if he shared one with your mother, he'll know that it means I'm your one and only. Not even Severus Snape can argue with that. Besides, like I told you a long time ago, you only need to fear his temper if you misbehave. And my loving you is not misbehaving, neither is asking for your hand in marriage. Getting you pregnant . . .then he'd be well within his rights to kick my ass to hell and back . . .only I'll never give him the chance, because I don't plan on getting you that way until after I've said I do. Now will you please stop worrying about this? It's going to be fine, I promise." He drew her into his arms and held her close.

"You sound awfully sure of yourself, Mr. Lockwood," she said, nestling against his shoulder.

"As sure as I am that I'll love you forever," he answered, and kissed the top of her head. "Feel better now?"

"Always with you, my love. You're the very best thing ever."

She remained in his arms for a very long time, until the sun slowly sank into the west, content to just be near him, reveling in his presence. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her head, and the touch of his hands on her shoulders, and the caress of his soul on hers, bound together by a magic more powerful than any spell ever cast, more potent than any potion ever brewed, older than time itself.

Right then, the future looked impossibly bright and filled with endless possibilities.

**But something bad looms on the horizon. If you review, I might decide to post it today or maybe tonight. **


	11. Voldemort's Vengeance

**Voldemort's Vengeance**

**Harry finally makes an appearance here, and so do Ron and Hermione! For those of you wondering why they didn't appear in these stories more often, it was because I didn't wan tto write the usual Snape's daughter meets Harry Potter and falls in love or whatever story. I wanted to keep this as original as possible, so I gave Arista her own friends, ect. Anyway, on with the story . . .**

After Drake had declared his love for her and vice versa, Arista found all her days floated by in a rose-colored haze. Nothing ruffled her composure, not even the NEWT level workload she was taking, nor Marsh's snide comments about settling for secondhand goods or going out with Lockwood out of pity. What would have once made her boiling mad and itching to slap Brittany's smug face right off now only made her laugh and walk away. Because Arista knew that the other girl was jealous, for despite her glamorous looks and her wealth, Brittany Marsh would never have what she did, or ever be loved the way Arista was.

One day, after their Defense class, Brittany cornered her and sneered, "I have a question for you, Snape. How can you like hanging around a reject like Lockwood?"

Arista pursed her lips. "Because, Marsh, Drake gives me something you'll never have. Respect and dignity and love. I feel sorry for you, Brittany, because not all your money or your status as a pureblood will ever buy you what I have, a gift given freely, not stolen or coaxed unwillingly from some poor guy."

"What would you know about it, Snape?" Brittany snarled. "Hathaway loves me."

"Does he? Or does he love your money and what you can give him?" Arista queried shrewdly. "I think you already know the answer, Marsh, but you're too afraid to admit it."

Brittany stared at her, a red flush slowly creeping up her cheekbones, speechless for the moment with rage. "You're wrong, Snape! Money is power and you're a fool if you can't see that. Then again, why should you, raised in a bloody orphanage, with a father who makes barely enough to keep you in school robes?" she laughed mockingly.

"Money can't buy love, Brittany. You're a fool if you can't see that," Arista shot back. Then she pushed past the other girl, leaving Brittany gaping after her.

"I hate you, Snape!" Marsh shrieked, unable to come up with a verbal reply to equal Arista's brutal honesty.

"I know," she murmured, half to herself. "But I think you hate yourself even more, because you know it's true."

She continued on down the corridor, making her way towards the Transfiguration classroom. "Marsh giving you problems again, Arista?" asked Mel, popping up out of thin air to walk beside her.

Arista managed not to jump in surprise. Mel tended to use her phantom form quite a bit these days, claiming that the more she practiced, the longer she could remain in it. She was currently able to maintain it for about three hours.

"She's the one with the problem, Mel, not me," Arista said calmly.

"I should've known. She's always had a bug up her arse about something." Mel snorted. "Never could figure what Hathaway saw in her, the stuck-up brat."

"Neither could he, but I think he's beginning to wonder now. Not that it's any of my concern."

"Yeah, who gives about Marsh's little drama when you've got one of your own with Drake, right?" Mel teased, her blue eyes sparkling wickedly.

Arista blushed faintly. "With Drake, it's more of a symphony than a drama. The only problem I have now is when and how to tell my dad."

"You mean, you haven't told him yet?" Mel squeaked. "With all the rumors floating about?"

"He doesn't pay attention to rumors, Mel, you know that."

"Maybe not normally, but I'll bet you two Galleons he'll pay attention to _this_ one, especially since it concerns you."

"Rumors about Drake and I have been circulating for months now and he hasn't once asked me about them."

"Maybe he wants you to tell him they aren't true first. That way it doesn't seem like he's accusing you of anything."

Her friend sighed. "I guess so. I know I've been avoiding the subject with him and that's not right, but I just haven't had the time to have a serious talk about it. I mean, I've been so busy with tests and homework I've barely got time to breathe, and so has he. We barely see each other anymore, except in Defense, and that's hardly the place to bring up my love life with Drake."

"I hear you, girlfriend, but let me tell you it'll be far better if you tell him yourself than if he overhears it from a blabbermouth like one of Marsh's friends and flips out." Mel cautioned.

"Trish said the same thing. It's not like I'm ashamed or anything either, because God knows I haven't done anything to be ashamed of. But it never seems to be the right time."

"You're procrastinating, Snape." Mel waved a chiding finger in her face. "That ain't like you, girl. That's Kit's line."

"He sure wasn't slow about asking _you _out, Mel."

"Big surprise there!" the ghostwalker laughed. "That's probably the one time in his life he hasn't waited till the last minute to do something. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"You're right. I should just tell Dad and get it over with. Before he hears one of the more wild stories, like the one that has me and Drake naked in the supply closet having wild sex among Filch's mops."

"Get out! I never heard that one!"

"That just started a day or so ago, when Hathaway spotted us kissing each other goodnight in front of the Slytherin portrait hole." Arista said irritably. "Next thing you know, it goes from one kiss to a dozen to naked in a closet together. Rumors spread quicker than the plague, I swear! And are just as deadly."

"Ouch," Mel winced. "If the professor ever heard that one . . .he'd really freak."

"Tell me about it. He'd probably ship me off to a convent. I'll tell him this weekend, before we go to Hogsmeade. He should be done grading his current batch of exams by then and he's always in a good mood when a Hogsmeade weekend comes up, 'cause then he can get some peace and quiet for a day or two."

"Good idea. I love the way he teaches Defense, Arista, but I kind of miss him teaching Potions. Slughorn's good and all, but he's not in the same class as your dad, know what I mean?"

"You mean he can't intimidate like him?"

"Nobody can intimidate like Professor Snape, that's for sure! But then again, nobody's had anything serious happen in his class either. I mean, just last week, a first year had to be rushed to St. Mungo's because he was fooling around and turned his Sleeping Draft into the Draught of Living Death by mistake and drank it all. That kind of thing would have never happened when Professor Snape was teaching, he always keeps an extra close watch on the younger students, and scares 'em silly so stuff like that doesn't happen. Sometimes a little healthy fear is good for the soul, as my mum used to say."

"Too true, Seton. Dad's much happier teaching Defense, but I miss his little Potions practicums too. He always pushed us to do it better, and while people hated him for it, you can't deny we're all better potion makers for it. Slughorn might be a master, but I get the feeling he's more concerned with a student's family background and popularity than he is with their potions expertise."

"Yeah, I heard he's starting up a new club—the Slug Club, I think it's called, and its members are by invitation only. I think Harry Potter might be one. Wonder if he'll ask one of us?"

Arista shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me one way or the other, Mel. I haven't got time for any extra curricular activities right now."

"Except kissing Drake," Mel added with a smirk.

"Shut up, Seton! Like you don't spend half the night smooching Kit behind the greenhouse."

Mel gaped at her. "How the bloody hell do you know _that_?"

"Kit bragged to Drake one day that he'd found the perfect spot to have a private moment, in case he was wondering," Arista snickered.

Mel rolled her eyes. "Merlin's toenails! He's worse than my grandmother and aunts. Tell him a secret and you tell the whole school."

"Don't be too hard on him, Mel. He can't help it if he's a Gryffindor and just blurts out the first thing that comes into his head. Lucky he told Drake, you don't need to worry about him blabbing, he knows how to be discreet, like most Slytherins."

"Lucky you," Mel said wryly. "Kit could use a few lessons."

Then they reached the door to the Transfiguration classroom and there was no more time to discuss wayward boyfriends or overprotective fathers.

* * * * * *  
Unfortunately, Arista never did get to have her little discussion with Professor Snape, because that weekend Dumbledore sent him out on a secret assignment, to gather more up-to-date information on the strength and numbers of Voldemort's army, which was gathering somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains.

When she arrived at his suite of rooms, she found him packing to leave. "Dad, I need to talk to you about something," she began hesitantly, feeling butterflies beating madly in her stomach.

"Sorry, but it'll have to wait," he answered, shoving some papers inside a drawer and locking it. "I have to leave in half-an-hour."

"Leave? For where?"

"I can't tell you. You know why," he said shortly.

She gazed at him in dismay. "Yeah, but . . .why now, Dad?"

"Because now is the best time. Don't pester me for details, Arista, you know I can't give you them and what you don't know can't be gotten out of you."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know. As long as it takes for me to find out what I need to know. I think maybe two to three days at most, so there'll be no need for a substitute to teach my class."

"Be careful," Arista said, then hugged him tightly.

"Always." He hugged her back. "Don't worry about me, I'll be back before you know it. Keep out of trouble now."

"Sure, Dad. I promise not to go hunting any dark wizards unless you're around," she shot back, grinning.

"Smartass," he scolded, then smiled at her. "Practice that multi-layered shield spell I taught you, because I'm going to quiz you on it when I get back, you hear?"

"Yes, sir. When you get back, I really need to talk to you."

"Okay, we'll talk as soon as I'm finished debriefing. Now, I really have to go, Arista."

"I love you."

"Love you too," he said, then kissed the top of her head. "Go on, get out of here, you don't want to miss your weekend at Hogsmeade, Miss Snape," he practically shoved her out the door.

She went, reluctantly. _Of all the rotten luck! Why does Dumbledore have to pick now, of all days, to send him out on an assignment?_ she wondered irritably. _This was the perfect time to tell him about Drake and me, blast it. And now it's all been ruined. Damn Voldemort to hell, him and all his bloody followers. I wish they'd all kill themselves in a fit of depression._

Saturday morning found Arista assisting Madam Pomfrey in the infirmary. Thus far, the cases were routine, the usual round of coughs, colds, and cases of exhaustion from staying up too late studying for exams and not eating properly on top of it. Of course, there were always one or two students who had miscast a spell and had to get disenchanted or mended. Madam Pomfrey was quite good at reversing unexpected spell results, and that was what Arista was studying with her this term.

She had just finished administering the infamous Decongestion Draft to poor Elise Martin, a first year who'd come down with a bad case of pneumonia after being dunked into the Black Lake as a prank by a group of second years. Said second years were now suffering detention under McGonagall.

Elise made a face at the terrible taste, quickly drinking the goblet of pumpkin juice Arista held out to her. "Can that stuff taste any worse?"

"No, thank God," Arista said sympathetically. "But it'll cure your pneumonia like that, trust me." She snapped her fingers. Sure enough, Elise was already drifting off to sleep.

Arista glanced at the plaque on the wall above the beds on the left side of the room. It read: Sleep is the Physician of Pain, an old Roman medicus saying. That was as true today as it had been two thousand years ago, she mused, disinfecting her hands quickly with a spell.

Then she turned to see what the commotion was at the infirmary entrance.

"Fell off his broom _again_? How many times are we going to have to go through this?" asked a girl's voice, sounding both concerned and slightly annoyed.

Just then a stretcher was floated into the room bearing upon it a familiar figure—Harry Potter in his Quidditch robes. He wasn't awake, but he was moaning a bit. Beside him were his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, as well as Kit, who'd been at the practice too and had saved Harry's life with his quick reflexes.

"It's Quidditch, Hermione, not basket weaving, what d'you expect?" Ron was saying exasperatedly, rolling his eyes at Kit, who was nodding in agreement with him.

"It's a stupid waste of time, if you ask me," Hermione huffed. "Men! So long as you've got plenty of action and blood, it's a great sport."

"You don't understand, Hermione," Kit began. "The danger makes it more intense, heightens the suspense, see? Without that it'd be boring."

"And I wouldn't have half so many patients in here," Madam Pomfrey stated. "Set him down in one of the empty beds, if you would, Mr. Ambrosius. Arista, I'll need you to run a diagnostic on him, please."

"Yes, ma'am." Arista said, coming over to examine her newest patient.

She laid her palm gently on Harry's forehead. Her healing sense automatically began cataloging injuries. She dictated them to the animated quill and parchment hovering over her shoulder. "Patient—Harry Potter. Quidditch related injuries. Cracked collarbone, slight concussion, broken tibia, torn shoulder ligament, contusion of the coccyx . . ." The quill scribbled rapidly.

Behind her Ron choked. "Contusion of the _what_?"

"Coccyx, Mr. Weasley," she replied impatiently. "Quit interrupting me."

"What the bloody hell's that? Does it mean he's like gonna die?"

"No, Ron," Hermione replied patiently, biting her lip. "It just means he's bruised his tailbone, that's all."

"Oh." Ron heaved a sigh of relief. "Then why didn't you just say so in the first place?"

"I did. Now hush!" Arista ordered, then continued with her diagnosis. "Vital signs, breathing normal, heart rate good, blood pressure, slightly elevated, temperature, slight fever—100.5 degrees, probably due to trauma. Diagnosis performed by Assisting Healer Snape."

Ron chewed his lower lip nervously. "It's bad, isn't it? Can you heal him, Arista?"

"I've seen worse come in through that door, Ron," Arista answered. "Don't worry, it sounds worse than it is." She rolled up the sleeves of her robe and laid her hands directly on Harry's chest. "Back away from me, please. I need to concentrate, and having you hovering isn't helping."

Hermione promptly dragged Ron backwards for about five feet, then the two settled down on an empty and eyed Arista curiously. Neither of them had ever seen a Healer like her at work before.

"She hasn't got a wand!" Ron exclaimed loudly.

Arista shot him an irritated look, reminiscent of her father. "That's because I don't need one to Heal. Now kindly shut up, Ron!"

"Sorry," Ron mumbled.

Arista returned to her patient, closing her eyes and releasing the shields on her healing power. White fire arced up through her hands, outlining them in a pulsing corona of white light. Head lowered in concentration, Arista sent the glowing light out and down, and suddenly both of them were surrounded by a brilliant white glow.

Hermione and Ron squinted, but they couldn't make out anything through the brilliant glow.

Arista carefully slipped pain blocks into place, so her patient would not feel it when she knitted bones and torn muscles back together, reducing the swelling and bruising where necessary, soothing the shock and pain Harry was feeling with her empathic touch. _Safe, you're safe now. Sleep, that's right. Sleep and dream_, she urged soundlessly, sending him comforting dreams.

There was an odd feel to his mind that nagged at her empathic senses, a tinge of something dark, a taint that reminded her of Wrackspur. Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement. A dark taint in Harry Potter, of all people? Surely she was imagining it? Harry was no dark wizard, even if he did speak Parseltongue. _Don't be ridiculous, Snape! Harry's no more a dark wizard than you are._ She eased herself from his mind, his body was mended from the fall, all he needed now was plenty of rest and water when he awoke, which wouldn't be until tomorrow morning, most likely.

She blinked, emerging from the healing trance always left her slightly disorientated for a minute or so. "There. You're all better, Harry," she announced, more for his friends' benefit than her patient's, who was sleeping like the dead. "But let's make you more comfortable, shall we?" She snapped her fingers and his muddy, bloodied Quidditch uniform vanished to be replaced by a clean set of hospital pajamas, white with green stripes.

"Much better," she said, then gently drew the blanket up around her patient, removing his glasses and placing them on the nightstand. Asleep, he looked curiously vulnerable, like a lonely child, though he was a year her senior.

"Wow! You healed him up pretty quick, Arista!" Hermione praised, looking at the auburn-haired girl with respect. "I'd of thought it would have taken you longer than half-an-hour to mend all that damage."

Arista shrugged and said modestly, "Fixing broken bones and torn ligaments isn't all that hard, Hermione. It's curing poison and reversing organ damage that's hard."

"Harry's gonna be okay, right?" Ron asked, clearly worried.

"He's going to be right as rain by tomorrow morning. All he needs now is a good night's sleep, since his body's worn out fighting the pain and trying to heal itself. What happened, anyway?"

"Well, we were practicing for the next game between us and Slytherin," Ron explained. "I was Keeper and Harry was Seeker, same as always. We were playing pretty well, nobody had scored on me yet, when all of a sudden a Bludger attacks Harry and it knocked him off his broom."

"Wait a minute. The Bludger attacked him?" Arista frowned.

"Well, kind of. You know how they home in on anything that's moving," Ron clarified. "Our Beater was supposed to keep it off Harry, but it slipped by and Harry didn't see it till it was too late."

"It all happened so fast, there was no time for anybody to react," Hermione continued. "One minute Harry was flying, the next thing I knew he was falling some thirty feet through the air. I went for my wand, but by the time I'd gotten it out, he was almost on the ground. If it hadn't been for Kit, I think Harry would have been in much worse shape." She flashed Kit a grateful smile.

Kit blushed. "Shoot, Hermione, it wasn't anything anybody else couldn't have done. All I did was cast a Cushioning Charm super quick."

"Hermione's right, Kit. Without that, Harry would have been hurt worse, maybe even killed," Arista said. "Your Cushioning Charm saved him a good deal of trauma."

Kit looked down at the ground, embarrassed. "Well, I'm glad I could help. I guess all those Lightning Draw sessions really paid off, Arista."

"Told you they would, Kit."

Ron was looking from one to the other, utterly bewildered. "What are you talking about?"

"Arista tutors us in self-defense and stuff in the afternoons sometimes," Kit explained. "One thing we practiced was how to react quickly in an emergency, by drawing our wands quick as lightning. Arista calls it the Lightning Draw."

"The quicker you get your wand out, the better chance you have of surprising your opponent," she elaborated. "Kit's good, he's the third fastest among us."

"Us?" Hermione asked.

"Me, Kit, Mel, Trish, and Drake," Arista told us.

"Who's the fastest among you?" Ron wanted to know.

"Drake. But I'm a close second."

"Real close. Sometimes she ties with Lockwood, the two of them move like bloody snakes striking." Kit said.

Ron whistled. "Really?"

"Want a demonstration?" Arista asked. "Ready, Kit? On the count of three."

Hermione started counting. On three both young wizards reached for their wands.

Arista's appeared in her hand before Ron even registered the fact that she was moving. Kit's was in his hand a second or two later. Ron and Hermione remained with their mouths open.

"Told you she was fast," Kit laughed.

"Fast as lightning," Ron whistled in admiration. "How'd you get so good, Arista?"

"Practice. Everyday for hours. But before I came here I used to do martial arts with my teacher, Colin Flynn. Nothing increases your reactions and speed like kung fu." She tucked her wand away inside her robe.

"I never heard of a wizard learning martial arts," Ron remarked.

"The Dark Hunters do, in America. It's mandatory for them, and I was a Hunter's apprentice for two years, so I learned it too. The AMA believes that a Hunter should be well rounded and master other disciplines besides magic. So they learn to fight in armed and unarmed combat, combining magic with martial arts skills. That's part of what makes a Hunter such a tough opponent. Even if you block his spells, he can still kick your ass with a roundhouse punch or a snap kick to the jaw."

"Could you do that, Arista?" Hermione wondered.

"Sure, if I had a reason to. I trained with one of the best combat masters on the force, Colin used to teach at the Academy before he returned to field status. He won Best Combat Master of the year three years in a row. He makes me look like a mild spring breeze."

"That's why you're so good at Defense," Ron said.

"Partly, but the other reason is that I practice with my dad during the summer. He taught me a lot about defensive and offensive spells that I never knew before. He's as good as any Academy master, according to Colin, and he doesn't say that about just anybody."

Hermione nodded. "I think this year is the best one we've had in Defense so far. I'm finally learning something useful."

"That's for sure," Ron agreed. "I love that Ricochet spell. I used it to block a hex Malfoy tried to cast on me the other day and it worked brilliantly. First time that's happened, me getting a spell right out of the classroom."

"Were you practicing on your own?"

"Uh . . .sort of. Actually, Professor Snape made me stay after and he had me casting it about a hundred times until I did it right." Ron admitted. "I think after that I could do it in my sleep."

"Practice makes perfect," Arista quoted, her eyes sparkling.

Ron groaned. "Please, Arista! Don't turn into your dad. One perfectionist is enough around here."

"Too late for that, mate," Kit chuckled. "You're looking at Miss Perfection Junior."

"Oh, stuff it, Ambrosius," Arista ordered, pretending to be angry. "I'm nowhere near the perfectionist my dad is. Now why don't you all go and take a nap or something? Harry's going to be out until tomorrow morning at least and we'll call you when he wakes up."

Ron rose to his feet. "Promise?"

"Yes. Now get, Weasley!" she shooed him away gently, rather like a collie with a recalcitrant lamb.

Hermione followed. Kit lingered a bit, but Arista waved a dismissive hand at him as well, and he grinned at her before departing. "See you at lunch, Snape. Oh, and by the way, congratulations."

She blushed a brilliant scarlet. "Thanks, Kit."

"You're welcome," he smirked, then ducked out of the door.

Arista quickly finished the rest of her morning rounds, then finished writing up Harry's chart, detailing what she had done to heal him. Then she left the ward to get some lunch with her friends, telling Madam Pomfrey she'd return for evening watch.

* * * * * *

Evening watch was usually the quietest and most boring shift in the infirmary, it began at ten o'clock at night and continued until five in the morning. Thus Pomfrey had no compunction giving it up to her Assisting Healer, and Arista was often given evening watch, usually two or three nights a week. Arista didn't really mind, she usually used the time to get caught up on studying or homework.

As Assisting Healer, Arista was given certain liberties, such as being allowed to stay up after curfew on those nights she worked evening watch. She could also dock House points like a prefect if students happened to enter the infirmary and were disruptive or obnoxious or too noisy and refused to leave when Arista asked them to. So far Arista had never actually taken House points, though she threatened to on more than one occasion. She found that the mere threat of taking House points, along with one of her famous Snape glares, was enough to keep impudent students in line.

Tonight, the infirmary was even more silent than usual, since the only patient in it overnight was Harry. Elise had been deemed fit to leave after waking up that afternoon by Madam Pomfrey. Arista checked him once more, he was sleeping soundly, before settling down in a recliner near the potions cabinet with a magazine. A small light illuminated the space above her head, casting a soft glow about the room. She quickly flipped through the magazine until she came to the article on Restorative Elixirs and began to read it.

Arista was an extremely fast reader, and had soon finished that article in about five minutes. She then picked up a copy of _Healer's Digest_, which she subscribed to at home, and perused it leisurely. But even that took only ten minutes. It was utterly still outside and in the ward the only sound was of Harry's hushed breathing

Stifling a yawn, she glanced at her watch. 11:05. Still a long way to go. She drew out a paperback book from her satchel. It was not the kind of thing a wizard usually read, being a mystery by Muggle author James Patterson called _The Lake House_. Arista had become addicted to Patterson when she lived with the Flynns, and had read everything he'd ever written.

She soon became engrossed in the story, reading for over an hour. Comfrey came into the infirmary and curled up on her lap, purring softly. Arista petted the cat and turned pages above the gray feline, happy to have company.

A low moan came from Harry and Arista froze in mid-sentence. She glanced up from her book just as Comfrey stiffened on her lap and swiveled an ear towards Harry's bed. The cat's eyes were narrowed and she hissed softly, tail lashing in warning.

Arista stroked the cat soothingly, but Comfrey was agitated and did not settle. Another groan came from Harry and Comfrey sprang to the ground, mewing in alarm. Something was plainly wrong, but Arista could not figure out what the cat was sensing. The only people in the infirmary were herself and Harry.

She rose and went over to peer at the young Gryffindor, who was now moaning loudly and thrashing about. His face was twisted as if in agony, but when she touched him, she could detect nothing physically wrong with him. "Must be a nightmare," she muttered, wincing as his hand lashed out, striking her hard on the arm.

She caught his hand, pinning it firmly to the mattress. "Harry! Wake up!"

His eyes opened, but they stared at her unseeing, still lost in whatever nightmare his mind had wandered into. "Don't!" he yelled, his breath coming in heaving gasps. "Don't hurt him! Don't!"

"Hurt who?"

But Harry was not aware of Arista, and he did not hear her question. He spasmed violently, as if in dreadful pain and screamed, his hands moving up to clutch his head, where his scar stood out a livid red against his pale skin. "No MORE! No . . .I don't want to see! Leave him alone . . .damn you, DAMN YOU!"

Arista gripped his hands tightly, trying to prevent him from hitting her or himself. "Harry! HARRY POTTER!" she yelled, shaking him fiercely. "It's only a dream. Now wake up!"

But whatever he was seeing held him fast, and he could not break free. Alarmed, Arista attempted to project feelings of peace and warmth, but as soon as she let down her shields, she was swept away into the maelstrom of sensation Harry was experiencing.

All at once she was standing in a darkened room, lit by only a single lamp. It was cold, frost gathered on the windowpane. She was standing next to a hunched figure in a black robe, bald with eyes resembling those of a serpent's, slit-pupiled and filled with a terrible malevolence.

Arista went cold to the marrow of her bones, for she had never felt such evil before, not even when she touched Wrackspur's mind. It made her shake uncontrollably, but she did not flee. She wondered for a fleeting instant who the figure was, but an instant later she knew—this was Voldemort, one of the greatest dark wizards of the era.

He was staring with undisguised hatred at something in front of him, and he lifted his wand, pointing it at something. "You will tell me all, right now!"

"Never."

The word was spoken softly, but the defiance in the tone was unmistakable.

"You dare defy me, thus? You DARE!" Voldemort screamed.

"Yes."

Again, there was no fear in the tone, only a quiet determination.

"Crucio!"

The figure on the floor writhed, groaning softly in agony, but was otherwise silent.

Arista shuddered, for she could feel Voldemort's satisfaction, cold and thoughtful, at this chance to wreak vengeance on one who had betrayed him. Then her gaze shifted, and she was at last able to get a clear look at the figure on the floor.

It was her father.

She howled, fear and fury intermingling in that single cry, and lashed out with her empathy, trying to hurt the grotesque monster standing before her.

But her empathic bolt went right through Voldemort, for he was not really there, he was only present in spirit, linked to Harry she now saw, by a twisted silken thread of blood. Pain slammed into her then, all of the pain Severus Snape was feeling at that moment, for he was bound by blood to her and she could not block it out.

"**Dad!"** she shrieked, fiery bursts of agony surging up and down her limbs.

For one instant, their eyes met, though she knew he could not see her. Voldemort's laughter echoed in her ears, cold and mocking. Her whole world became a red and black blur of pain, and she felt herself falling . . .

Only to find herself cradled in Drake's arms, as he had come in just in time to catch her before she hit the floor, drawn to her by the soulbond. "Arista, are you okay? What's wrong with you?"

She opened her eyes, her head throbbed ceaselessly. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes as she recalled the terrible pain she had felt just before the link had broken. "Voldemort . . .knows, Drake!" she gasped. "He _knows!"_

"Knows what?" Drake cried, holding her tighter.

"Knows about my father," she sobbed softly. "I saw him . . .Harry and I saw him . . .he knows the truth about my father, that he's Dumbledore's agent . . .!"

"My fault . . ." Harry whispered, sitting up now, his face pale and streaked with tears also. "Couldn't stop him . . .he's always there in the back of my mind . . . seeing what I see, knowing what I know . . .He's so angry, so very angry . . ." He shut his eyes, pressing his hands to his scar.

"You can_ feel_ Voldemort in your head?" Drake demanded, horrified.

Harry nodded guiltily. "Not supposed to . . .Dumbledore said learn Occlumency . . .Snape'll teach you . . .but I refused to listen to him . . .didn't trust him . . .He's a Slytherin and he hated my father and I thought he was a Death Eater . . .Dumbledore said no, trust Severus, he's always been Voldemort's enemy." Harry hung his head, not looking at them. "Only I didn't . . .I'm sorry, so very sorry . . ."

"Stupid boy!" Arista raged. "He'll kill him now! Can you still feel him, Harry?"

Harry was shivering now, his hands pressed to his forehead. "Yes . . .he wants vengeance . . .miserable traitor . . .ahh . . .!"

"Shut him out, dammit!" Arista growled.

"I don't know how!"

Arista's hand fastened on his wrist, her eyes burning with anger and terrible grief. "Like THIS!"

Then she was inside Harry's mind, following the thread of blood, the dark taint that bound him to Voldemort. She could feel Voldemort's anger at the betrayal of this, his most faithful servant, who had never been his servant at all. Snape would pay, pay in blood . . ._Get out, monster! Get out and STAY out!_ Arista shouted, then she thrust her consciousness forward, slapping the Dark Lord with her own power, letting him feel her. Startled, Voldemort withdrew slightly, and she slammed up a shield, triple strength and impenetrable, just the way Severus had taught her. The connection between Harry and the Dark Lord went dead.

Y_ou see what I did? Do you understand now?_ She demanded sternly. _Impenetrable defense, lighter than air, a mist that conceals and absorbs, revealing nothing. That's the first layer. Then the second, like a wall of glass reflecting endlessly . . .And last, a wall of nothing, blank, like a clean slate, leaving him nothing to hold onto . . ._

_Yes. I get it!_

Good. Remember it. He's not all-powerful, you can fight him. Then she withdrew, coming back to herself with a gasp. "Can you feel him anymore?"

Harry shook his head. "No. And my scar . . .it doesn't hurt now. It always hurts when he's angry. What you did, Arista, will it keep him out of my mind forever?"

"No. But you can build shields of your own that he can't penetrate, mine is only temporary. The most effective shield is one you construct yourself. My dad taught me that."

Harry flinched at the mention of the professor. "Arista, I don't think he'll kill him, not yet . . ."

"No, he'll play with him first!" she snarled. Then her anger vanished and she buried her face in Drake's shoulder and began to cry.

Drake looked sick. "We've got to tell the Headmaster. Maybe he can go and find them, before . . ." he didn't finish that sentence, but they all knew how it ended.

"What on earth is going on here?" demanded a cross Madam Pomfrey, coming into the infirmary. "Mr. Potter, why were you shouting? And you, Mr. Lockwood, what are you doing out of bed?" Her jaw dropped as she took in the odd scene. Harry, sitting up in bed, looking like death warmed over, obviously upset over something, and Drake sitting opposite him, holding Arista, who was crying. "Arista, what happened?"

Drake looked up at the older Healer, making a snap decision. "Voldemort found out about Professor Snape. That he was working for Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix all along."

"No . . ." Pomfrey went pale. "Poor Severus! We must tell the Headmaster immediately! I'll go and call him."

Minutes later, all three of them were in Dumbledore's office via Floo powder.

* * * * *

"We have to go and find him!" Arista insisted, once Harry had explained everything.

"I wish that were possible, child," Dumbledore said sadly. "But I don't know where Severus went. He wouldn't reveal anything to me, saying it was safer that way. What you don't know, you can't reveal was his motto."

They gaped at him in dismay. "But, sir, surely you have some idea," Arista pressed. "You can't leave him there . . .with _them!_ You _can't!"_

"I'm sorry, Arista. But I have no choice. Severus knew when he left here that this might happen . . ."

"So what? You owe it to him to find him, he risked his life for you, damn it!" she swore passionately. "And if you won't go, then_ I_ will!"

"No!" Dumbledore said swiftly. "We can't risk you falling into their hands, Arista. A Healer of your caliber . . .Severus made me swear no harm would come to you, I was to keep you safe at all costs."

"Damn it to hell! What good is my power if it can't save my father?" she yelled, glaring at the Headmaster furiously, not caring in the slightest that she was being disrespectful and utterly rude to the strongest wizard in Europe. Snape would have been horrified, she knew, but right then she was too angry to care.

"It may save him yet, Arista Snape," Dumbledore said quietly, meeting her eyes with his own.

"It can't if he's dead!"

"But he wasn't, according to you and Harry. And I believe that Harry is correct, Voldemort will not kill Severus. His revenge will not be satisfied that way . . ."

"So do something!" she cried, frustration lining her jaw. "Take Scout, let him track for you. He can find anyone, he can find my father, no matter where he's gone. Please, Professor!" she threw every bit of empathic persuasion she could into her voice.

Dumbledore nodded reluctantly. "I will try. Where is your magehound?"

"Asleep in my room. I'll get him for you." she turned to go, running hastily down the stairs.

"I must contact the others," Dumbledore said swiftly. He eyed Harry and Drake thoughtfully. "In the meantime, gentlemen, I suggest you two go back to bed. There is little you can do right now, so you might as well sleep. You in particular, Harry. Ask Poppy for a Sleeping Draft if you think you need it. Go on now." He waved them away.

They went, still stunned by this new turn of events.

"Sleep?" Drake muttered to Harry as they descended the staircase. "Is he nuts? How can we just go to sleep after this?"

Harry did not answer, for he had no idea either.

* * * * * *  
Arista returned to the Headmaster's office with Scout and after receiving instructions on how to tell the magehound to search, Dumbledore told her to go to sleep as well. Arista did not argue, simply went back to her dormitory, though she knew she would not sleep a wink.

She lay on her bed, praying fervently that Scout could pick up the trail immediately, and that Dumbledore would find her father before it was too late. She fell asleep still murmuring prayers hopefully. Comfrey walked through the wall and snuggled next to Arista, her purr soothing the girl's agitated emotions enough so she could sleep peacefully.

As it turned out, however, Scout's tracking expertise proved unnecessary. For the next morning, Hagrid discovered the battered and bloody figure of Professor Snape, Master of Potions and Defense, lying on the cold ground in front of the castle.

Around the professor's neck was a wooden sign. Written in blood, it read: _Thus is the fate of traitors and spies—Voldemort._

**Do not stop here!! Severus is barely alive, NOT dead! Read on to see what happens....please**!


	12. A Breath Away

**A Breath Away**

**OK, you've twisted my arm , figuratively speaking. Here's the next chapter. Hope you like it!**

A stretcher was summoned and Snape was quickly rushed into the infirmary. Dumbledore returned, he'd been a few miles from the school, when Scout had abruptly halted and raced back the way he had come. The Headmaster and the magehound arrived just in time to see the professor being levitated onto the stretcher by Hagrid, who was gulping back tears.

"Hagrid, is he . . .?"

"He was jus' lyin' here, sir. With this filthy thing about his neck." He showed Dumbledore the sign.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed and suddenly the sign cracked in two. "Get rid of that, Hagrid." He waved his wand and the stretcher with the half-dead wizard began to move. Scout paced by it, whimpering softly, thrusting his nose into his master's limp hand.

Albus was never certain whether it was that which roused Severus Snape from unconsciousness. But all of a sudden the Potions Master's eyes were open and looking directly into Dumbledore's own.

"Severus, don't try to talk. We're going to help you." Dumbledore said quickly, realizing a moment later how stupid his injunction was, for Severus's face was bruised and battered so badly Dumbledore doubted if he could speak.

Severus's eyes met his own. _Albus, he knows nothing. He couldn't penetrate my shields, they held. I promise you that. He didn't break me, I hid and he couldn't follow. That was why he did . . .this to me._  
Dumbledore patted his hand gently. "You did very well, my friend. You're going to be all right." He never looked away from the dark eyes.

_Liar. I'm dying, we both know it. Tell Arista that I love her and I wish . . .you know what to say, Albus_.

"So do you, Severus. And you can tell her yourself," Dumbledore whispered hoarsely.

They had reached the Hospital Wing and Albus broke the contact. Severus's eyelids fluttered shut, he was unable to keep them open any longer, the pain was too great, and he lapsed back into unconsciousness, his spirit hanging by a thread.

"Poppy," Dumbledore ordered and Madam Pomfrey rushed over. She maintained a professional demeanor as she gazed down at the critically injured man, though she was appalled at the amount of damage he had suffered. She did not even know how he was still alive.

"Bloody stubborn man!" she whispered, running a diagnostic on him. "Anyone else would have been gone by now." She shook her head at Dumbledore's questioning gaze. "This . . .Albus, it's too great, over half of his systems are compromised. His spleen, his lungs, his heart . . .I will try, but frankly I don't think he will live . . .He's but a breath away from death."

"He'll live," came a new voice from behind them. "_I'll_ save him."

They whirled around to find Arista behind them, a small wraith in her bare feet and nightclothes, a determined look in her eye that made both teachers flinch and step back. She had an air about her, as of a warrior going into battle.

"Arista, dear, you know the rules," began Madam Pomfrey, wanting to spare her the sight of her father's broken body.

"Yes, I do. You may save those a breath away from death, but once they are gone you must let them go. So _he_ told me long ago. A breath away. And he's still breathing. Now move away, please."

They did, reluctantly, she could tell by their expressions that they thought it was too late. She set her jaw. A breath away was still a breath. She had healed worse. She would not, could not fail.

She released all the shields on her healing power, summoning it up all at once, something she had not done since she was eleven and resurrected the cat from the dead. White fire coursed through her in a dizzying rush, but unlike that other time, she knew how to control it. She guided it, it did not guide her. She nudged a thread of it downward, drawing more power from the earth, should she need it.

To those watching, it appeared as if she suddenly burst into flame, white fire etched her body, burning brightly, flickering to blue around the edges. Poppy put a hand to her mouth in awe. They watched the glowing figure of the Master Healer approach the still form shrouded in black and lay her hands upon him.

Arista knew from the moment she touched him that Poppy had been correct. The damage inflicted upon her father was too great for an ordinary Healer to fix. It was a miracle he was still alive. But that stubborn indomitable will refused to give up, and she was not about to let him go without a fight._ Nothing is impossible with magic. I'm no ordinary Healer. I healed the Longbottoms and Fireflash, I can heal him too._

A breath away.

She analytically catalogued all of his myriad injuries. Then she set the white fire free and began to heal them.

First, the heart, coaxing it back into a normal rhythm, sending the blood flowing through the veins, fixing the damaged capillaries. Next the lungs, repairing and sealing, nudging a rib back into place, draining the excess fluid away. Then his skull, easing the pressure on the brain and mending the crack in it.

One breath became two.

_Good job. Breathe, Dad, in and out. Just like for meditation_.

She would have wept, but the white fire burned her tears away, and she had no time to indulge in them anyway. She sent the fire deeper, seeking another damaged organ.

Under her deft touch, his kidneys were restored, his spleen woven back together, mending organs was hard, very much so, but not impossible. It could be done, if one had the focus, the power, and the concentration. Arista did.

Severus was worse off than the cat had been, for so much of his injuries had been deliberately inflicted, with magic and without it. But that did not matter. She would prevail.

_A breath away and more. I won't let them win. Not now or ever. I'm a Snape and we never ever give up. Never! Live! I give you back your life, as once you gave me mine._  
She coaxed him back from the edge, the white fire seeking out what had been broken and torn and restoring it under her directive. She worked partially from instinct and partially from all the knowledge of human anatomy she had gained from endless hours of study. It was intense, exhausting work, and she could feel her strength waning, but her will never faltered.

She drew a trickle of power from the earth, it came in a sweet rush and she reattached nerves and restored movement in his left leg, though not perfectly. But it was enough, he would walk on it, a bit stiffly, but he would use it.

Abrasions and bruises were the last things she healed, for they were simple and required barely a flicker of her gift. Lacerations made by whips and clubs vanished as if they never were.

Last, she touched his mind, calling to him with the full force of her empathic gift, sending her spirit self flying along the glittering road of stars, seeking the spark that was Severus Snape.

_Dad, come back to me. Come back! You're healed, and we need you—I need you! Come back!_ Over and over she called, her voice that of a lost child, in need of comfort and protection.

_Arista? Where are you?_

Faint, so very faint, but there.

_Here! I'm here_! She summoned him with all of the love and desperation at her command, and suddenly he was there, his spirit self dancing and flickering like a shadow upon a wall.

Her spirit self reached out to him and he clasped her tight. _Don't leave! You're okay now, I've healed you. Stay with me._

He seemed torn. _But the light . . .Amelia was there, waiting . . .only she wouldn't let me hold her. Go back, she said . . .it's not time yet, Sev . . ._

_Listen to her, Dad. You still have work to do. Remember your Vow? Voldemort is still alive. We need you to help us fight. Nobody can fight him like you can._

_Yes, I did promise that._ He heaved a sigh of regret.

_Come on, Dad. She'll be waiting, and one day you'll meet again. Just not now_. Her spirit self tugged on his hand, drawing him back down the sparkling path towards his body.

He grimaced in distaste._ Must I go back?_

Yes! You promised. Do it for me, if for no one else.

Very well. Show me the way back, Arista mine.

So she did, walking his spirit self back home again.

She was half-aware of voices around her, but she paid them little heed, for she was more concerned with the fact that her father was now breathing deeply, evenly, sleeping normally.

"Albus, it's been over four hours," Madam Pomfrey was saying in alarm. "_No one_ can stay tranced for so long, I don't care how powerful her gift is."

"Then you don't think she's succeeding, Poppy?"

"I really don't see how she could, he was nearly dead when he came here, and what they did to him . . .Albus, I've never seen anyone hurt so badly in my life still breathing. I'm going to call her back, she'll destroy herself trying to save him, and Severus's ghost will haunt us forever if that happens."

She made as if to touch the glowing form of the little Healer.

"No! Don't touch her!" Drake cried, grabbing Pomfrey's hand abruptly.

The medi-witch shot him an annoyed look. "Mr. Lockwood, what do you think you're doing?"

"Stopping you from making a huge mistake, ma'am," he answered. "Arista's winning, I can feel it, and if you interrupt her now, all of this will have been for nothing. Just wait a few more minutes."

"And just how do you know that?" Pomfrey asked irritably.

"I know because she and I share a soulbond," he answered simply.

Madam Pomfrey gaped at him. Then she nodded and stepped away. "Five minutes, Mr. Lockwood."

Just then Dumbledore glanced over at Severus's still form and saw, to his utter amazement, the Potions Master's chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Color was now back in his face and he was sleeping peacefully, all the agony and pain erased from his lean features. "Look, Poppy! He's breathing! Look at his face! I think . . .he's asleep. She's done it, Poppy!" the Headmaster cried, relief and amazement in his tone. "Severus is alive." He was weeping openly, and so were Drake and Madam Pomfrey.

The white fire vanished, and Arista withdrew her hands from Severus's chest. She looked up at the three wizards and smiled in triumph. "Nothing is impossible with magic."

Then she crumpled to the ground, all her strength gone.

Drake caught her easily, hugging her to him. "You are amazing, Arista Snape." He kissed her gently. "She needs to rest."

"You'd best put her in the bed next to her father then," Madam Pomfrey said calmly, her composure regained somewhat. "When he wakes up, he'll be asking for her, so best he see her for himself right off."

Drake obeyed, settling Arista in the bed next to Snape and covering her with a blanket.

Poppy glanced at him. "Don't you have class or something, Mr. Lockwood?"

"No, today's Sunday."

"Oh. Yes, I forgot." She stammered. "Well then, if you're going to remain here, I'd like your assistance with the professor, if you don't mind. He's all over blood and needs to be cleaned up and gotten into fresh clothes. You aren't squeamish about blood, are you?"

"No, ma'am, I've helped my father plenty of times with patients. He's a Magical Creatures vet." Drake told her.

"That's right, you're Robin Lockwood's son. Good, then you won't be fainting on me. Here, start washing the blood off his face, gently mind! He might be healed, but that new skin is still tender." She handed Drake a damp cloth scented with wintergreen infused water.

Drake took it and began gently sponging clotted blood off the sleeping Severus.

Half an hour later, their patient was freshly scrubbed and resting comfortably in a set of hospital pajamas not unlike those Harry had worn. Scout, who had remained in the infirmary despite Madam Pomfrey's attempts to shoo him out, was lying between the two beds, alert and watchful. The magehound had licked Severus's face once they'd transferred him to the bed next to Arista's, much to Drake's amusement.

He bent to ruffle the dog's satin ears. "He's gonna be okay, boy. They both are, thank God."

Scout thumped his tail in agreement, but he remained where he was, guarding the two people he loved from harm.

Comfrey appeared in the room and jumped up on the bed, curling up on Snape's feet, purring loudly.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "This is not normal procedure, to allow animals in my sick ward, but I suppose I'll have to make an exception in their case."

"I'd say so, because nothing's going to keep them out of here," Drake agreed.

"Or you either," she added with a smile.

"No," he settled himself in a chair next to Arista's bed.

"Stay then, Mr. Lockwood. At least you're quiet," she said, then bustled off to mix up some more pain medicine.

Drake slanted a half-smile at the sleeping Healer, then leaned back in the chair and dozed lightly. It had been a long morning, and he had no doubt once the school learned about what had happened, the Hospital Wing would be swarming with people. After all, it wasn't everyday a person was brought back from the brink of death after being tortured by the Dark Lord.

**Well? Did you really think I'd let him die???**


	13. Many Meetings

**Many Meetings**

A day later, Severus was awake and coherent again, much to everyone's amazement. He found that he remembered very little of his initial ordeal, apparently Arista had used her gift to block out the worst of the memories, so he wouldn't need to fear sleeping again. When he tried to recall what he'd endured at Voldemort's hands, it was indistinct and hazy, as if seen through a beveled glass mirror. He was very grateful for that small mercy.

The only other outward signs of his ordeal were a lock of his hair that had turned permanently white on his left side, from where his skull had cracked open, and his left leg. When Arista had healed him, the hair that had grown over the spot had changed color due to the trauma. Severus supposed he would grow used to it in time, and Albus teased him gently, saying it made him look dignified, and older than his thirty-six years.

The only other physical sign was his left leg, which had suffered sustained and intense nerve damage. Part of that damage was due to the repeated casting of the Cruciatus Curse, and part of it due to being broken and torn with a iron prybar. That much Snape did recall, and wished he didn't. The mere memory made his leg throb. Arista, good as she was, hadn't been able to restore the nerves to full efficiency, but she had made certain he could still use the leg, or so Poppy had assured him.

"For now, though, you're not to put your full weight on it, Severus," she instructed. "Therefore, you may use these," and she conjured a pair of crutches for him.

He looked at the crutches with extreme distaste, he so hated being helpless. Then he sighed and nodded. "Very well. If I must use them, I shall. Bloody damn nuisance!"

"Don't be ungrateful, Severus," Pomfrey chided gently. "You're lucky you can walk at all. Arista did an amazing job on you, far better than I would have been able to. Truly, she is a Healer beyond compare, we haven't seen her like since Nimue the Blessed, back in the days of Arthur and Merlin."

The Potions Master shook his head ruefully. "Don't mind me, Poppy. I'm never at my best when I'm injured. I tend to snap and snarl, so I'll give you advance warning, and ask you to forgive me."

"Like most men," the medi-witch said. "I'll keep that in mind. How are you feeling otherwise?"

"Very good, all things considered." He examined his arms and hands slowly, as if surprised they were still attached to him and functioning. "When Arista heals someone they stay healed, as I'm sure you know. Where is she, by the way?"

"Right beside you in the bed to your left," Poppy answered, pointing to the bed next to him. "She still hasn't woken up yet, but that's normal after a major healing like she did. Her body needs to replenish all the energy she used and the best way to do that is to sleep."

Severus coughed softly, his throat was terribly dry, probably from screaming, he thought with a shudder.

"I'm sorry, you must be thirsty," Poppy apologized, handing him a glass of cool water.

Snape sipped it gratefully, careful not to gulp it, knowing his stomach wouldn't tolerate it. "Who found me?"

"Hagrid did," Poppy replied, laying a hand on his forehead. "Good, no fever. You were a sight to behold, Severus. I fear you scared him out of ten years of his life."

"No doubt. But better he found me than one of the students," Severus said matter-of-factly. He raised an eyebrow as he caught sight of Drake asleep in the chair next to Arista's bed. "Has Lockwood been here all night too?"

"Oh yes, watching over you and Arista rather like that oversized beagle there," Poppy snorted, indicating Scout, who raised his head and thumped his tail in acknowledgement. He'd jumped half on the bed and licked the professor's entire face when Severus had first awakened. "The both of them refused to leave, so I allowed them to stay, provided they were quiet and let you sleep." She cast a fond but exasperated glance at Drake. "Mr. Lockwood didn't think he could trust me to look after Arista, I suppose. Either that or he simply needs to be close to her, like most partners with a new soulbond."

Severus' jaw dropped. "Excuse me, but could you repeat that again? Because for a minute I could have sworn you said that Drake and Arista were soulbonded."

"According to Lockwood, they are. He told me so himself, while Arista was tranced and healing you. Why?"

"Because this is the first I've heard of it," Snape muttered, frowning irritably.

"Oh dear. I thought you knew."

Snape shook his head. "No. And I should have. Although . . ." his brow wrinkled, as he tried to recall the conversation he had had with Arista before leaving that morning on his last mission. "She did try and talk to me about something just before I left. Perhaps it was about the soulbond. It's so rare, but I'm glad it's Drake and not someone else."

"Because he's a Slytherin?" Poppy guessed.

"His House is irrelevant," Snape waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm glad it's him because I know he's responsible and trustworthy and he knows the meaning of loyalty. He's a good match for her."

"What about love, Severus? Isn't that important?"

"Yes, but there's no doubt in my mind about that, Poppy. A soulbond requires the deepest commitment and love otherwise it'll fail. Theirs hasn't, which suggest to me that it's the real thing."

"Oh, it's real enough. He felt her need across the castle, from all the way down in the dungeons." She eyed Snape thoughtfully. "You know an awful lot about soulbonds for a Potions Master and Defense teacher."

"I ought to. My wife was an empath too."

Poppy understood instantly what he implied. "Oh, Severus. How terrible for you! No wonder you never speak of her."

Snape glanced away for a moment, his mind filled with the image of Amelia as he had last seen her, while standing on the starry road. She had told him to go back, that it was not time for them to be together yet. How he had longed to take her in his arms, to hug her tightly and never let go! To see her and not be able to touch her seemed to him the cruelest form of torture.

_I'll be right here waiting, Sev. Now go back, please. Go back, Sev_.

He could still hear her voice, beloved and sweet, echoing in his mind.

He surreptitiously wiped a hand across his eyes. _Good God, Snape, this is no time to get emotional. Be glad you're alive, _he scolded himself. He _was_ glad, he told himself firmly, but he still missed Amelia, and always would. Such was the price of a soulbond.

"Her name was Amelia, Poppy. She was a very special person, much like her daughter. Her death nearly broke me, worse than anything Riddle did to me. And yet, enduring that gave me the strength to endure him, which is why I'm here speaking to you now." He shifted, trying to get comfortable. "I guess what they say is true, everything happens for a reason." He grimaced as a spasm shot through his left leg.

"Are you in pain? Do you need a pain relieving draft?" she inquired solicitously.

Snape shook his head no. "Just a twinge, that's all. I need to move around, I think."

She gestured to his crutches. "Be my guest. Just don't overdo it."

He scowled at her, then reached for them, cursing his awkwardness.

He forced himself to walk across the infirmary and back twice, working the newly healed muscle, hoping to ease the stiffness somewhat. The exercise exhausted him, however, and he had to lie down afterwards, much to his disgust. _Ah, well. Rome wasn't built in a day_, he reminded himself, and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he found he had slept two hours, and Dumbledore was now seated in a chair next to his bed. He was also quite hungry and thirsty. Poppy brought him a tray and he talked quietly with Albus while he ate, reassuring the older wizard that he had not compromised the Order.

"He couldn't get past my shields and that frustrated the hell out of him," Severus reported, scowling angrily just thinking about his old enemy. "He thought if he used the Cruciatus on me, it would grant him access, but he was sadly mistaken. He forgets the background I have, I'm no stranger to pain."

Dumbledore winced. "I'm sorry, Severus. Had I known . . ."

"Don't," Snape cut him off sharply. "We both know you'd have sent me anyway, Albus. I was the best man for the job, and I knew the risks. This was always a possibility."

"True," Albus sighed. "I just never expected you to be compromised so soon." He frowned down at his left hand, which was blackened and crooked into a claw.

"What's done is done. We'll just have to alter our plans a bit," Snape said. "Have you told Potter about the Horcruxes yet?" he asked in a voice meant only for Dumbledore's ears.

"Not everything. I hadn't planned on revealing things so soon."

"If not now, then when? You're running out of time, Albus." Snape reminded, nodding meaningfully at the Headmaster's ruined hand. "My potion won't hold the curse at bay forever. I've played the game to the end, now it's time for the Chosen One to step forward and play the role he was born for." There was a bitter edge to Snape's voice as he said that.

"Do you still resent the boy after all this time, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, faintly disapproving. "His connection to Voldemort may have saved your life, you know."

"Really?" Snape sneered. "And how do you know he didn't unknowingly betray me too, Albus? The boy's a loose cannon, Albus, and yes, I do resent being so dependent on a mere sixteen-year-old whose only talent is getting into trouble like his father!"

"You misjudge him, Severus. Remember, he isn't only James's son, but Lily's as well."

"I know that, and it's too bad he didn't inherit more of her brains. Some of the things he does boggles my mind. And if he's to find the Horcruxes before it's too late, he's going to have to think fast, and be one step ahead of Voldemort. It'll require more than luck if he's to succeed."

"Trust him, Severus. Like you, there is more to him than meets the eye."

"Then why the blazes hasn't he shown it to me?"

"Perhaps because you've always demanded it. Try asking next time," Albus suggested. Snape snorted. "You've no need to play the drill sergeant with him anymore, you know. The sword's been tempered enough."

"Maybe. It's almost second nature by now," Severus admitted quietly. "And that was what he needed, all those years, and well you know it."

Dumbledore nodded. "But now he must take that discipline and use it himself. Not an easy thing to do. What he needs now is encouragement."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "From me?"

"Yes. He respects you, you know."

Severus laughed in disbelief. "Hardly. He hates my guts."

"No. You didn't see him, after we brought you back, and he knew you had almost died. He kept saying how sorry he was, Severus, he was remorseful and guilty, he blamed himself for what happened. He was very nearly in tears."

"Over _me_? Oh, Albus! That is unbelievable, that Potter should feel such for me, his most hated Potions professor, the perfectionist who pushed him to the limit, who annoyed and humiliated him."

"Nevertheless, it's true. Perhaps he is more like Lily than you thought?"

"Humph! Perhaps."

"Will you talk with him then? He wants to speak with you."

"Now?"

"If you feel up to it."

Severus sighed. "All right. Send him in here. I promise not to bite his head off."  
Dumbledore chuckled. "That's a start."

"So long as he remembers his manners and doesn't mouth off to me," the professor added.

"I'll remind him to be polite, although I doubt it'll be necessary this time," the Headmaster stated.

Five minutes later Harry walked into the infirmary and saw Snape sitting up in the hospital bed, doing nothing more alarming than stroking the head of his magehound. Harry hesitated for a moment, uncertain whether or not to proceed, he'd never seen Snape this relaxed before and after what the man had endured, was reluctant to break the tranquil moment.

The professor was speaking to the dog softly, and Scout was gazing at him with extreme affection. Even more surprising, Severus was smiling, and that sight alone was enough to give Harry the courage to approach his teacher. It was a miracle that Snape was alive, he looked much better than when Harry had last seen him, through Voldemort's eyes in that dark cell, writhing in agony.

Severus glanced up at the boy's approach, raising an eyebrow. "You wished to see me about something, Potter?" There was no bite to his tone now, it was merely a question.

Harry swallowed sharply. "Uh, yes, sir," he said awkwardly. He did not dare meet the other's eyes, instead focusing on the magehound, who was sitting with his head in the professor's lap. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for . . .for what happened. I never meant . . .for him to find out, I swear it. This is all my fault."

The remorse in the boy's tone was genuine, and Severus fought to keep from gaping. An apology was the last thing he had expected from Harry, of all people. The Potions Master sighed. "Potter, look at me," he ordered quietly. Harry did, and there was no defiance in his green eyes now, the way there had been almost every other time. Now there was only guilt and shame. "Why do you say that this was your fault? I don't recall you holding a wand on me and casting the Cruciatus curse, do you?"

"No, but . . .I'm the reason Voldemort found out about you, sir! He was inside my mind again and I didn't know . . .he probably heard me talking with Dumbledore."

"About me?"

Harry nodded miserably. "He told me to trust you, only I didn't believe him . . .I was wrong about you. I thought you were working for the Death Eaters, playing us all for fools."

"That was what I wanted you to think," Severus said. "That was my cover. No one was to know otherwise, save Professor Dumbledore. If you betrayed my secret to Voldemort as you seem to believe, Potter, answer this. Why did he wait so long to attack me, to accuse me of being unfaithful? He could have sent his followers out after me any time after I'd left the school and killed me that way. He could have attacked me as soon as he saw me. Why did he wait, if he knew I was a spy for the Order?"

"I don't know, sir. Maybe he didn't think it was true."

"No, Potter. The Dark Lord is very distrustful, if told someone had betrayed him or if he suspected someone of betrayal, he would not hesitate for an instant to harm the betrayer. Voldemort has no friends, only followers. Yet he waited a full day after my arrival to begin "questioning" me," Snape said, grimacing slightly in distaste. "Your conversation with Albus was when?"

"Uh, maybe a day before you left." Harry said.

"Then I'll ask you again, why the delay? If he knew for certain that I was a traitor to his cause, why not kill me as soon as I arrived? It doesn't add up."

"Then how did he find out, if not through me?"

"I don't know. Was anyone else present when Albus revealed my true purpose to you?"

"No, sir. We were alone, in his office." Harry frowned, trying to recall that day. "But afterwards, I ran into Malfoy, he was lurking near the statue, said he needed to speak to the Headmaster about something urgent. I asked if he was requesting a transfer to a different school and he said don't I wish and left."

Severus looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't put it past him to have been ordered by his father to do some spying of his own."

"Then you think he might have overheard us?"

"First rule in spying, Potter, assume nothing. You deal in facts, not suppositions. Perhaps Malfoy had a legitimate reason for being there, or perhaps not. We don't know. What I do know is that Lucius began asking rather pointed questions about Arista soon after I joined them at their secret base. I didn't like that at all, and I gave indirect answers to most of his queries. Perhaps that tipped him off, that I was unwilling to have my daughter serve Voldemort like I did. For make no mistake, I would have died rather than have Arista fall into his hands. In any case, you shouldn't blame yourself over something that was out of your control."

"But it was my fault!"

"Potter, for Godsake, stop playing the martyr, and let it go!" Severus snapped exasperatedly. "You and Arista love to feel guilty over things that you can't change."

"If I had learned Occlumency like I was supposed to—"

"Ah, now _that _is something you can feel guilty about," Snape interjected. "Your disobedience and disrespect were the reason I chose to end our sessions. My time is valuable and the last thing I want is to waste it teaching an incorrigible student."

Harry flushed. "Maybe I was wrong there, but you weren't much better . . .sir. You kept pushing me . . ."

"Of course I did! That's my job, Potter, to test you. You think I was being too hard on you? Not even close. What I did is nothing to what Voldemort would do to you if he got the chance. You've shared his mind, Potter, you know better than anyone what he's capable of. You saw what he did to me, don't think for an instant he wouldn't do it to you or one of your friends. He'd kill them quick as blinking, just like Cedric Diggory. If you're going to go up against him, you have to be hard and unyielding and be able to out-think him. That was what kept me alive for fifteen years. And that is what will keep you alive too, if you care to learn it. Well? Would you like to continue Occlumency lessons with me?"

Harry considered for several moments. At last he nodded. "I would, if it'll keep him out of my head. I'm tired of feeling him hurt people, I want to be free of him."

"The only way to be truly free of him is to kill him. Are you prepared to do that, Potter?"

"I think so."

"Not good enough! No hesitation, Potter! Hesitate and you're dead. This is a coldblooded murderer you're dealing with, not a schoolboy bully. Make up your mind. Can you kill him or not?"

"I can, sir."

"Better. We'll work on methods later."

"I know of one method already, professor," Harry began, but Snape made a swift slashing motion with a hand.

"Not here, Potter!" he hissed. "You never know who might be listening." He scowled angrily at Harry. "Never assume you're safe. Use your head for once."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, boy. Think before you act. That'll save your life more than any foolish heroic stunt, believe me. Quit acting like your father for once, and follow your mother's example. Lily was a thinker and a careful planner. She knew how to see a problem from all angles. Made her an excellent potion maker."

"You knew her well, then?" Harry asked. This was the first time he'd ever heard Snape mention his mother.

"Certainly I did, we went to school together. She lived down the street from me too."

"You were neighbors?"

"Yes, and friends as well. As good friends as you and Weasley are." He chuckled wryly. "Why so surprised, Potter? Even I had friends once. I knew your aunt too, though we never liked each other. She was a stuck-up snob, always sneering at us and calling us freaks."

"She hasn't changed all that much," Harry said feelingly.

"I'm not surprised. People like her don't. Be that as it may, I think we can resume our lessons three days from now, at six in the evening in my office." He brushed the white lock of hair off his forehead.

Harry stared at it. "Professor Snape, your hair . . ."

"Is white, yes I know. That's what happens when you crack your skull open."

Harry winced. "Arista put shields in place yesterday. But she told me they wouldn't last forever, that I'd have to make my own, only I don't know exactly how to do it."

"I'll teach you." he leveled a stern glare at Lily's son. "But you better be prepared to work next time you see me, Potter, am I clear? His dark army grows stronger day by day and you must be prepared to meet it. I've played the game to the end, now it's your turn. Make it count."

"I will, sir."

"Good. I'm going to hold you to that promise." He reached out and clasped Harry's hand in his own. "Perhaps there's more of your mother in you than I thought." Severus conceded. Then he waved Harry away. "You're dismissed. Go on, get out of here. Go play Quidditch or something. I'll see you at six o'clock three days from now. Don't be late or I'll take points."

"I won't. See you later, sir." Harry went, thinking how different Snape was now from before. Was it possible that his sneering attitude had all been a mask? It seemed so, for while he'd been sharp, he'd also been far more compassionate that Harry had ever expected.

When he glanced back at Snape over his shoulder, he saw the indomitable professor had fallen asleep.

* * * * * *

Severus stirred, hearing voice babbling somewhere nearby.

"He's lying so still, Drake," murmured Trish worriedly.

"That's because he's asleep," Drake replied, faintly exasperated. "What d'you want him to do, dance a jig?"

"He's not . . ._dead_, is he?"

The note of hysteria in her voice roused him to full awareness in an instant. "I'm fine, Trish," he said quietly, opening his eyes and sitting up. "Sorry, but you'll have to wait a few more years for your inheritance," he teased gently.

Trish stared at him as if she'd never seen him before, a myriad of emotions chasing themselves across her face. "Huh? I heard . . .everyone said you were dead, that he'd killed you, Severus!" Overcome, she began to cry.

"Now, do I look dead to you, Tricia Greenbough?" he demanded lightly, trying to get her to stop sobbing. Instead she cried harder. "Oh, please don't do this . . .Come here," he drew her down on the bed, where she promptly put her head on his shoulder and wept. He patted her back soothingly. "There now. It's all right. I'm fine."

"Not entirely, Dad," said Arista from the opposite side of the bed, laying a hand gently on his other shoulder, reading him with her healing sense. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to fix all the nerve damage in your left leg, if I'd gotten to it immediately maybe I could've—" there were tears in her eyes too.

"Arista Eileen, don't you _dare_ apologize for this," Severus interrupted her, incredulous. "I'm lucky to still be breathing, for Godsake! You did the best anyone could have possibly done, so don't you dare feel guilty, young lady!"

"But it wasn't enough," she protested. "You'll limp on that leg and it'll be stiff forever."

"So what? That's a small price to pay for my life, Healer Snape, and well you know it. No one expects you to work two miracles, Arista, especially not me." Then he hugged her to him as well. For long moments they remained so, content to be near each other.

"Umm . . .I'll just leave you all alone, okay?" Drake coughed uncomfortably, muttering half under his breath, "Before you make me cry too, God help me."

"Come back here, Drake," Arista called, sitting up and withdrawing from her father's embrace. "You're part of this family too, or at least you will be eventually, remember?"

"Oh. Right." He cleared his throat and drew himself up to his full height of five eleven. Severus looked up at him expectantly. "Sir, Arista and I have something to tell you."

"We're soulbonded," Arista began quickly, coming to stand beside him.

"And I'd like your permission to marry her," Drake blurted, before he lost his nerve.

Trish stopped crying and gaped at them. "Holy God! Talk about a whirlwind romance."

"There's no such thing with a soulbond, Trish," Arista laughed. "What you love now, you'll love forever. Right, Dad?"

All of them looked at Professor Snape. He narrowed his eyes at Drake, and the younger man met his scrutiny squarely, unflinching. "Yes. You do understand what you're getting into, Lockwood? This isn't some game, this is for life, with a soulbond there's no possibility of divorce. Well, legally there is, but not otherwise."

"I know that, sir. Arista explained everything to me. It's forever, beyond death even. Like you and Amelia."

"Exactly like that," Severus agreed softly. Then he lost his stern air and smiled at them. "Congratulations, you two."

Arista frowned. "You're not surprised at all. You knew all along. How?"

"Poppy let the cat out of the bag, I'm afraid," her father admitted slyly. "She assumed I knew about it when I asked her why Drake was sleeping in a chair next to your bed, Arista." He slanted a glance at Drake. "Have you bought a ring yet?"

"No, sir. I figured it was better to ask you first."

"Smart of you. You have my permission to marry her, Drake, on one condition."

"That's it?" Arista's jaw dropped. "You're not gonna threaten him with death or dismemberment if he gets out of line with me or something?"

"I don't need to. Soulbonded pairs rarely stay angry at each other for longer than a day. Besides, he already knows if he does anything to hurt you, I'll kick his ass good, right, mister?"

"Yes, sir. But you and I both know I never would, so you needn't worry on that score. You mentioned you had one condition, sir?"

"Both of you graduate school before you marry. Love is no substitute for a decent education."

"Agreed," they said at the same time.

"Then I've no objections," Severus declared, smiling. "Welcome to the family, Drake."

"Thank you, sir," Drake said, and grinned back at him.

"We were going to wait anyhow," Arista added. "No sense in rushing these things."

"I've applied to the Dark Hunter Academy in New York," Drake announced. "If I'm accepted, I can go there right after I graduate. That'll extend our engagement for at least two years."

"Yeah, it's going to take a year at least to plan the wedding," Trish said happily, springing up and hugging both of them. "Maybe more with Voldy on the loose."

Arista grimaced. "Don't remind me. Speaking of that, how did you manage to get back to Hogwarts, Dad? Did one of Them bring you here?"

Snape shook his head. "Never. Once I was dead, they'd have probably given my remains to Nagini or something. I used my magic to fly myself back here, with a spell stored in my ring." He indicated the spellophone ring on his right hand.

"Voldemort didn't take that from you?" Drake exclaimed, eyeing the ring with interest.

"No. Why bother removing a communication device from a dead man? I certainly wasn't in any shape to use it once he was done with me." Severus said grimly. "It never occurred to him, the arrogant bastard, to check the ring for enchantments besides the standard spellophone charm. Actually, the spell was one part Apparition to one part Mobilicorpus, and it's a one-shot thing. I had just enough strength to touch the ring with my left hand and whisper the keyword before I passed out."

"I never knew you could combine spells that way, professor," said Trish.

"It's very difficult, but Colin told me how the Hunters use that spell as a last ditch defense, and gave me instructions. Fortunately for me, it worked."

"Hunters are famous for their ingenuity," Arista declared proudly. "What about your wand, Dad? Did they break it?"

"The one I had, yes."

"The one you had?" she repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"They broke my wand, naturally, so I was helpless against them. But what they broke wasn't my real one, but a duplicate. I knew there was always a chance of discovery, so I never took my real wand with me when I went to meet with the Death Eaters. Ever since Nightshade disarmed me that time, I've always been careful to never allow my real wand to fall into the wrong hands. So I created a duplicate with several offensive and defensive spells stored in it. I could duel with it, but not much else. Yet it fooled them. And my real wand remained hidden."

"Sneaky, Dad," Arista said admiringly.

"That's why he's a Slytherin," Drake said proudly.

"I would have summoned my real one to me when they broke the other, except they Stunned me before I could." Severus added, anticipating Arista's next question.

"How many were there?" Drake asked.

"Four, including Voldemort. I blocked three hexes—his, Lucius', and Bellatrix's, but Pettigrew caught me from behind, the coward!" the Potions Master spat. "One day he'll pay for his treachery. You know what happened afterwards." Suddenly he began to cough, his throat was unbearably dry.

Arista quickly summoned a glass of water and held it ready for him to drink when the spasm had eased. Severus took it after a while and sipped at it. "Thank you." He raised his head and looked around the room at the clock on the wall. "It's the middle of the day, why aren't you two, at least, in class?" he asked, indicating Trish and Drake.

"Dumbledore excused us on account of it's being a family emergency," Trish explained glibly.

"Both of you?"

"Uh huh. I told him about the soulbond," Drake admitted. "He said, under the circumstances, I wouldn't be able to concentrate on my classes, and excused me."

"Humph! You teenagers will use any excuse to get out of class," Snape snorted.

"Unfair, sir," Trish defended herself. "When I heard what had happened, I was so upset I almost passed out right in the corridor. There was no way I could've gone to class and learned anything after that."

"Same here," Drake put in.

"I suppose not," Severus said reluctantly. "But now that you've seen for yourselves that I'm recovering and so is Arista, might I suggest you finish your afternoon classes?"

"The Headmaster excused us for the whole day, Severus," Trish told him.

"Oh, he did, did he?" He shook his head in disapproval. "So be it. But don't come whining to me later, miss, about all the work you have to make up. That goes for you too, Lockwood."

"_Make-up_ work?" all three of them chorused, exchanging glances of mutual dismay.

"Lots of it," their teacher said.

"No fair!" cried Trish.

"You've got to be kidding!" groaned Drake.

"Aww, come on, Dad! We didn't miss all _that_ much," Arista sighed.

Professor Snape said nothing, contenting himself with smirking gleefully.


	14. Occlumency Revisted

**Occlumency Revisted**

Three days later, Snape was pronounced well enough to leave the Hospital Wing and return to his duties as Defense Master. His left leg had been permanently damaged, and he would always walk with a slight limp and the muscles would never be the same, always stiff and achy in the damp and cold weather. Poppy had given him a handsome black cane with a brass tip, since he wasn't to put his full weight on the leg for at least a week. He accepted the gift graciously, concealing the grimace that had stolen over his face when he'd first seen it. Still, a cane wasn't quite as bad as those blasted crutches, he thought peevishly, resolving to do more exercises to strengthen the leg as much as possible and so avoid having to use the bloody thing.

Word had quickly spread around the school of what had occurred, and now he often received glances of awe and respect as well as fear and the occasional sympathetic one too when they caught sight of his leg or the white lock of hair. He'd considered dying it, but quickly abandoned that idea. He was no vain peacock, to worry about something so trivial as a white lock. There were much more important things to worry about.

Harry had arrived promptly for Occlumency lessons at six in his office, and unlike the previous sessions, the boy did not allow anger or resentment to cloud his mind, instead arriving with a cordial, "Feeling better, sir?"

"Much, thank you." Snape answered, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. "Do you remember what you need to do from last time, or shall I review it with you, Mr. Potter?"

"I remember, sir," Harry said quietly, meeting his teacher's eyes.

"Very well then. Let us begin. Concentrate, Potter, and see if you can keep me out." Severus pointed his wand at Harry's head and intoned, "One. Two. Three. Legilimens!"

That first time, Harry only succeeded in blocking him out for ten minutes. "You've got to do better, Potter!" he barked, scowling. "Try again and _this _time concentrate. You keep giving me loopholes."

Still that first lesson went rather well, there were no insults and no sneering and Harry was respectful and determined, listening to Severus's instructions carefully. He found that meeting the perfectionist professor halfway was not as bad as he'd feared, and the session ended without rancor. Severus gave Harry sets of exercises to do before bed each night, mostly concerned with making his mind a blank slate, leaving nothing for Voldemort to pick up on. "You cannot give him so much as an inch in your defenses, Potter," the Defense Master informed him sternly. "Do that and he'll be inside your mind quicker than a hawk on a hare. And then you're finished. Practice those exercises and meditate like I showed you. We'll meet again in two nights. Dismissed."

"Sir?" Harry paused before the door. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"How did you manage to keep your true identity a secret all these years?"

"By being very very good at Occlumency, Potter. It's my talent, I suppose you could say. A difficult discipline to master, and not one that you can learn overnight. I can teach you the basics, enough so you can keep Voldemort out of your head for now. There are other ways to defeat him, ways that I will not discuss with you at this time."

Harry nodded, understanding the other man's reluctance. Then he departed.

Severus heaved a sigh when the boy had gone. That session had went better than he had thought. He began to think that perhaps Albus's faith had not been misplaced. He found that he was tired, he had not yet regained all of his strength, and he rose stiffly from his chair, wincing as his leg throbbed.

Right then, a nice hot soak in the faculty bathroom was looking heavenly. He picked up his cane and leaning rather heavily on it, made his way out of his office and through a secret tunnel leading up to the third floor of the castle. He had discovered the secret way soon after he'd become Defense Master, and it was a good deal easier on his leg than the stairs.

* * * * * *  
Harry was on his way back to the Gryffindor common room when he heard Ron and Hermione's voices. He slowed, coming around a bend in the corridor to see his friends sitting on a stone bench beneath the portrait of a lady and her baby speaking to Tricia and Kit. Kit was a fellow Gryffindor, a rather private individual, so Harry did not know him as well as he could have, save by reputation. Kit had once been the joke of the school for his inability to master simple Transfiguration spells, but lately he'd seemed to have overcome his handicap. He was also good friends with Snape's daughter, Arista. So too was Tricia, though she was in Hufflepuff. Arista was one of the few people in the school who disregarded utterly the boundaries of Houses and the structures of pureblood versus Muggleborn and made friends with whomever she chose. Her two other best friends were Mel Seton, a Ravenclaw, and Slytherin Drake Lockwood, he recalled now.

He wondered what the four of them were discussing so animatedly, he had planned on studying some more for Potions with Hermione before going to sleep. Lately, he'd been doing much better in Potions thanks to the battered copy of Advanced Potion Making Professor Slughorn had given him. The book included notes made by a previous student, notes that had enabled Harry to make first class potions, and he almost wished he had Snape as a Potions instructor again, just so he could show off his new expertise.

Then again, maybe not. He found he much preferred Severus as a Defense teacher, the man was much less abrasive since gaining that position, though not one bit less demanding. _Once a perfectionist always a perfectionist_, Harry thought with a soft sigh.

As he drew closer, he could make out bits and pieces of the conversation between the four students. They were discussing Snape, of all people.

"I still can't believe _Snape_, of all people, would actually be willing to suffer and die for our sakes," Ron was saying.

"That's because you don't know the real Severus Snape," Trish answered shortly. "Right, Kit?"

"Yeah," Kit agreed, much to Harry's surprise. "He ain't always the snarky git he pretends he is here. You never saw him outside of Hogwarts. He's a lot more relaxed at home."

"You've been to his house?" Ron gaped.

"Sure, loads of times," Kit chuckled.

"But you're a _Gryffindor."_

"So what? I'm also Arista's friend, and that counts for more in his book," Kit said calmly.

"Really? Since when?" Ron snorted.

"Since always," Trish said sharply. "He only seemed to favor Slytherin, to keep up his cover as a double agent. It would have looked awfully strange if he didn't, considering he was their Head of House. But I know for a fact that he loathes Marsh, Hathaway, and Malfoy. He thinks they're good-for-nothing spoiled rotten brats who need a good lesson in manners. He told me so himself."

"Is it true that you live there, Trish?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," the other girl nodded, ignoring Ron's gasp of horror. "And let me tell you, Hermione, living at Snape's house is better than living with my mum any day of the week." She laughed at Ron's pop-eyed expression. "Don't look so shocked, Weasley. Severus treats me decent, I'm as much his daughter as Arista. Like I said before, you don't know him the way I do. You only see the mask, but I see the man under it."

"You're telling me he's not such a greasy git after all?"

"Don't call him that!" Trish snapped. "Let me tell you, Ron, what that so-called git did for me. You may not know this, but my mum, Glinda Greenbough, used to be a teenage model for Witch Weekly and Sophisticated Sorceress. Now she's a fashion consultant, since she couldn't model much after she had me. Claimed I ruined her figure, or some bloody nonsense like that. She thought since I was a girl and her only daughter, I'd be content to follow in her footsteps and become her clone. But her life never interested me and I refused to be what she wanted. That's one of the reasons I look like this," she gestured to her rather plump figure. "I eat when I'm unhappy and I was miserable with her. She's a nasty harpy, especially when she doesn't get her way. Rather like Marsh, come to think of it. Last summer, she tried to make over into a mini version of herself, dragging me to all these fashion exhibitions and forcing me to hang out with all these snooty model types and keeping me from seeing my best friends. She kept me a prisoner in my own home. It got me so depressed that I wanted to fly into a cliff."

"That's terrible!" Hermione cried.

Trish smiled bitterly. "Wait. It gets better. That summer, Arista was away in America visiting her Amarotti relatives and so was Drake. Kit was away in Ireland, and the only friend I had here was Mel, whom I was forbidden to see. By the time Arista got back here, I was falling apart. Bit by bit, I was losing myself, and I knew if I stayed with her anymore, I'd go mad. So I came over to Spinner's End to talk to Arista, to see if she could help me. I was so depressed and miserable I wanted to die, but Severus saved me. He talked to me, listened to my problems, and then he let me stay there until he spoke with my parents. They've been divorced since I was little, but my dad's remarried and him and my stepmother were expecting a baby. Severus tried explaining to him that I really shouldn't stay with my mum, but my dad's a classic jerk, and he blew him off. He had a new family, see, and he didn't want any problems with his old one. Both him and my mum are selfish gits, they only give a damn about themselves and they threw me away like so much rubbish. If it weren't for Severus, I'd be in some orphanage or something right now. He took me into his home, made me a part of his family, him and Arista. He told me I was worth fifty of my mum and that I could be whatever I wanted to be. Nobody has ever said that about me before, and he meant it. He didn't have to do anything for me, what was I to him? My own blood had cast me out. He took what they left and gave me a second chance at a new life, and he's a better parent then either of my real ones. He really cares about me, just me, and it doesn't matter to him if I'm a Hufflepuff or whatever. To him I'm his adopted daughter, and that means more than anything to me. Does that answer your question, Ron?"

Slowly Ron nodded, too shocked by Trish's frank revelation to say anything more. Harry himself was frozen, for he like Ron had always been willing to believe the worst of the sharp-tempered Potions Master. He'd judged the book by its cover and look where it had gotten him.

"I _told _you he wasn't all what he seemed, Ron," Hermione said in her best know-it-all tone.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, Hermione. Like I was going to believe you. How'd you know anyhow?"

"I just did." Hermione shrugged, looking unbearably smug.

"Women's intuition," Trish offered with a grin.

Ron groaned. "Give me a break!"

"Oh, just admit you were wrong, Ron. It won't kill you," Hermione said.

Ron glanced away, scowling down at the ground. Harry sympathized with him. It went against his pride to admit he'd been shown up by two girls.

"Leave off, you two," Kit ordered gruffly. "It's a lot for him to take in all at once."

Ron shot him a grateful look. "Thanks, Ambrosius."

"Kit," he corrected softly.

"You never had doubts about him then?"

Kit shrugged. "Not really. See, I was always careful to behave around him, so he never had an excuse to get snarked off with me. Potions was never my worst subject and I always got good marks in it. And once I became friends with Arista, I saw a totally different side of him than before. He's actually nice when you get to know him. I spent some time at his house this summer, and he tutored me a bit in Transfiguration, helped me with some concepts I'd had trouble with. It's hard when you've got the perfect older brother and your parents wonder what went wrong with you."

"Yeah, I know the feeling." Ron said sympathetically. "Percy was always the example to all of us younger ones, least until he went to work for Fudge and turned into a first class jackass."

"Makes me glad I'm an only child sometimes," Hermione said to Trish.

Trish nodded. "Makes me glad that Severus doesn't compare Arista and me like that. Except when we misbehave. Usually he asks Arista why she can't be more like me, 'cause she's got a smart mouth with him when she gets mad."

"Like father like daughter," Ron pointed out.

"Yeah. Me, I'd never dare answer him back, I'm too afraid he'll tell me to take a walk," Trish said. "He never would, probably, but still . . .why ruin a good thing?"

"Is he, like, real strict with you?" Ron asked.

"No, not really. Only about some things, like schoolwork and keeping our room neat, stuff like that. We do the housework with magic, unless we're in trouble, and he gives us an allowance too."

Ron and Kit sighed enviously. Then Ron yawned and said, "Well, I'm for bed, got Quidditch practice tomorrow. Good night, Hermione, Trish, Kit." He rose and started to walk back to the Gryffindor portrait hole.

"It is getting late and I still have some studying to do for Herbology," Trish said, only then realizing the time. "Good night, all."

Harry waited until they'd parted before coming up behind Kit and Hermione. "Hi, Hermione," he said, laughing when she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"HARRY!" she yelled, frowning at him. "Don't ever scare me like that! I thought you were a Death Eater or something."

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself." Harry said, smirking. Kit was laughing quietly. "Besides, no Death Eater can get past the dark detectors, so the school's perfectly safe. They can't get in unless someone lets them in."

"What if someone did?" she demanded, fear in her eyes.

"Now who'd do a crazy thing like that?" Kit asked.

"Someone with ties to the Death Eaters," Hermione suggested darkly.

"Like Malfoy," Harry said. Ever since that night he'd caught Malfoy lurking about the Headmaster's staircase, he'd had his suspicions. Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater through and through, what if he were grooming his son for the position as well?

"Exactly." Hermione shivered. "I keep getting the feeling that something bad's going to happen."

Harry did not bother to answer, for he knew all too well just how right Hermione was. Professor Dumbledore had told him of the army Voldemort was gathering, planning to march it down and take over everything, including Hogwarts. Snape's mission had been to gather information about it, and Harry wondered what, if anything, Severus had learned before he was taken in for questioning. But he did not think he would ever have courage enough to question the Potions Master about it. That was better left to Dumbledore, whom Snape trusted implicitly.

Harry headed upstairs to his familiar four-poster in Gryffindor Tower, feeling extremely tired. He just remembered to do his meditation and Occlumency exercises before drifting off to sleep. That night he slept without dreams.

* * * * * *

Before Harry knew it, it had been two nights since his first Occlumency lesson. He had practiced the exercises Severus had set him faithfully, and therefore felt much more confident entering this session. He found Severus pacing about his office rather like a restless cat, limping grimly with his new black cane.

Harry halted just inside the door, not wanting to interrupt his teacher's musings. He'd heard reports that Snape's left leg had been damaged permanently by the torture he'd endured, but this was the first time he'd ever seen the professor use his cane.

Snape limped over to his desk, his mouth set in a grim line. Abruptly he whirled and looked towards the door, scowling when he caught sight of Harry. "Well, come in, Potter, don't stand in the doorway gaping like the village idiot." He sat down in his chair, gesturing for Harry to sit across from him.

Harry obeyed quickly, shutting the door behind him and grasping his wand.

This session went better than the last one, Harry was able to keep Snape from invading his mind for twenty minutes, then his defenses collapsed and the professor was able to see inside his head.

"Again, Potter! Make your mind a blank, so I can't sense anything." Severus ordered.

"Yes, sir," Harry said, and concentrated.

Snape was a hard taskmaster, he kept Harry practicing for two hours, until the boy was nearly too tired to see straight. Then he called a halt and poured Harry a cup of what looked like Oolong tea from a pot on his desk. "Drink that, Potter. It'll take away that headache."

"How did you know?" Harry gaped at him, blinking in shock.

"Because headaches are a side effect of practicing Occlumency," Snape replied. "Especially in the beginning." He gestured at the cup. "Go on, drink that. It's a Headache Remedy, it'll keep you from developing a migraine. It's not poison," he added with a wry smirk.

Harry eyed the cup with some trepidation before picking it up and smelling it. Once, he'd not have put it past Snape to poison him. But after what had happened, he knew such thoughts were unfair and unworthy, and so he put the cup to his lips and sipped. The tea tasted faintly of cinnamon and some other spice, cardamom he thought it might be, as well as a hint of jasmine and lavender.

Almost immediately, he felt the throbbing behind his eyes cease. He sighed in relief. "Thank you, sir," he said.

"You're welcome," his teacher said, pouring himself a cup as well and drinking it. Then Severus leaned forward and said softly, "Has Professor Dumbledore discussed the ways in which you can kill Voldemort with you yet?" Dumbledore had promised Severus he would do so after Harry had begun Occlumency lessons again.

"He did, Professor," Harry replied, drinking the rest of his tea quickly. "He said the reason Voldemort was able to survive his own curse rebounding on him was because he had split his soul seven ways. He had placed a portion of his soul into seven objects called Horcruxes. He said that in order to create a Horcrux, you had to kill an innocent, because that was the sacrifice the dark magic required. Only by taking the life of another could you gain enough power to split your soul."

Severus nodded. "The creation of a Horcrux is necromancy of the worst order. Only those skilled in the Dark Arts and without remorse would even consider attempting it. To split your soul even once leaves a black mark upon it. Voldemort believed it would gain him immortality, however, and that was why he made seven Horcruxes, so his chance at immortality would be assured."

"He also told me that Voldemort destroyed his humanity when he did that, and that's why he can kill without feeling anything."

"Humph! Personally, I think Riddle never had much humanity to start with, maniacs like him usually don't have anything resembling a conscience or compassion. Making the Horcruxes only accentuated what was already there."

"I'd have to agree with you. The one time I saw him in the diary, he'd just framed Hagrid for the basilisk killing Myrtle, and he didn't care a bit that he'd just got an innocent student expelled, so long as his secret was kept safe."

"That's the nature of the beast, Potter. It's look out for yourself first and devil take anyone who gets in your way."

"Professor Dumbledore told me that the only way he could be killed forever was to find all the Horcruxes and destroy them. Only then would he be vulnerable to a true death, like a normal person."

"True. But finding those Horcruxes is not an easy quest. He wouldn't just leave them anywhere, he'd hide them in a spot where no one would think to look, and put protections and curses on them stronger than anything you've ever seen. Even I never knew where he kept them, or what they were. Although I think he might have hidden one in his familiar, Nagini. That snake doesn't behave like an ordinary animal, and he never allows her to stray far from his side."

"But I thought a Horcrux had to be an object."

"That's so, but Voldemort was fond of breaking the rules and I wouldn't put it past him to have experimented with the snake. Did Albus also tell you that Horcruxes can't be destroyed by ordinary means? You need a powerful magical object or spell to break one."

"I destroyed the diary with a tooth of a basilisk," Harry told him.

"Basilisk venom is one of the deadliest poisons in the world. Another way is to immerse the object in dragon fire, which burns hotter than a volcano. There's a spell that can simulate such fire called Draco Inferio. Otherwise you need something with a powerful enchantment, like the sword of Godric Gryffindor."

"I know that, sir. The Headmaster explained it to me. He also said that it was my task to find the Horcruxes. He said I needed to find them before Voldemort grew too strong."

"Alone?"

"No, he said I could have help. He would go with me for most of the way, but in the end the final battle was mine to fight."

"So runs the prophecy, Potter. You and you alone are to be Riddle's doom. That is why I'm teaching you Occlumency, Potter. So you can shield your thoughts from him and take him by surprise for once. For he will be hunting you once he realizes what you're about. Your greatest strength is secrecy and swiftness. Play hide and seek, Potter. But do it quickly and do it well, we're running out of time. His army was nearly ready to march when I arrived at the base that last time. In another month he'll have them trained up enough to attack, and one of the first places he'll come is the school. First the Ministry, then Hogwarts."

Harry felt sick at the mere thought of Voldemort and his minions descending on Hogwarts. "But no Dark forces can enter the school grounds."

"Maybe once that was true, but I'm sure Riddle has found a way to circumvent such protections." Severus said grimly.

"What can we do then?"

"Find the bloody Horcruxes before it's too late. That's your task, Potter. Fail and we're lost. So be ready. When the Headmaster summons you to his office again, you'll know it's time to begin. Until then, we'll have lessons every other night."

"But what about Hogwarts?"

"Leave the defense of the school to those who are best suited to it, young man," Severus said sharply. "Your only concerns right now should be schoolwork, practicing the Occlumency disciplines I've shown you, and figuring out what and where the Horcruxes are."

"You don't ask much do you, sir?" Harry snapped peevishly.

"The price you pay for being a hero, Potter," Snape said sternly. "Something you Gryffindors are eminently suited to, apparently."

"So are some Slytherins," Harry shot back.

Severus snorted. "Regrettably, some of us have been known to display some heroic tendencies on occasion. Then we come to our senses."

"Have you . . .sir?" Harry asked, greatly daring.

Severus shot him a glare that could have melted stone. "That'll be enough cheek from you, boy! One more remark like that out of you and you'll serve detention with me, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." He rose to his feet. "May I go now, Professor Snape?"

"Yes, leave before you irritate me past bearing." He waved Harry off, still scowling.

Harry was out of the door as quick as a shadow, anxious to escape Snape's temper. He knew it was wrong of him to bait the older wizard that way, but the temptation had been too great to resist. He'd spent too many years annoying Snape to abandon the practice overnight. Still, he knew he'd better not provoke the professor too much, or else he'd end up in detention, and Snape's detentions were no joke.

Funny, though, Snape could have deducted House points for Harry's smart comment, and hadn't. Harry was still pondering this unexpected bit of mercy when he banged right into Malfoy, who was lurking in the corridor.

"Watch where you're going, Potter, you clumsy idiot!" the blond haired boy snarled.

Harry backed up, frowning at Malfoy suspiciously. "What are you doing here at this time of night, Malfoy?"

"What's it to you, Potter? I've as much right as you to be here, more even, since I'm a prefect," Malfoy stated, and he flashed his prefect's badge at Harry gloatingly.

"The only reason you're a prefect, Malfoy, is 'cause you bribed your way in," Harry sneered.

"Whatever, Potter. But if that's so, then how come you aren't a prefect too? With all the ass-kissing you do to Dumbledore and Snape, you ought to be Head Boy by now."

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"Struck a nerve, Potter?" the other taunted mercilessly. "I heard all about your little midnight confession with Snape, how you cried like a little baby and begged his forgiveness. It's all my fault, sir! I told You-Know-Who your secrets and that's why you're a battered wreck. I'm so sorry, professor, I deserve to be beaten for being such a naughty boy!" Malfoy sneered.

Harry's eyes blazed. "I said, _shut up_, Malfoy! Why are you up here anyhow, doing some spying for your father?"

Now it was Malfoy's turn to flush and bristle. "None of your business, Potter. Why? You worried I'll find out your guilty little secret?"

"What secret, Malfoy?" Harry demanded, wondering frantically if the other boy had been listening at the office door. How much had Malfoy overheard?

Malfoy laughed nastily. "What you and Snape are _really_ up to in his office. Do you ask him to beat you with his cane, Potter? Mortifying the flesh is good for the soul, right? And I'll bet he knows just how to make it hurt, seeing as how it was done to him too, the poor useless bastard. He isn't good for much else now, is he, the old cripple? My father says he should retire, he's unfit for teaching Defense now. How did he put it? Oh, yes—Snape's like an old toothless mongrel, who ought to be put out of his misery."

"Someone ought to put your father out of his misery, Malfoy!" Harry growled, incensed at the other's words. "If he doesn't watch what he says, maybe someone will!"  
Malfoy drew his wand. "Is that a threat, Potter?"

"It's a promise, you filthy sneaking ferret."

"Eat this, Potter!" Malfoy snarled. "Reducto!"

But Harry blocked the curse just the way he'd learned in Defense. Malfoy's vicious comments so enraged him that he didn't stop to think, he cast the first curse that came to his mind, a new one he'd learned from that Advanced Potions book. It had been scribbled in the margin of the book, and after it was the warning _For Enemies_! Well, Malfoy was surely an enemy to Harry's way of thinking, and the spying brat had started this, so serve him right.

Harry pointed his wand and cast the unfamiliar curse nonverbally. "_Sectumsempra!"_

There was a flash of silver light and suddenly Malfoy was bleeding from three huge slashes in his chest and stomach. He fell to the floor with a loud scream, his hands clutching his stomach. Blood was spurting everywhere.

Harry stared down at Malfoy in utter horror. He'd wanted the smug boy to pay for his insults, but he'd never dreamed the spell would do such damage.

Drawn by the sounds of the quarrel, Severus came out of his office. "What in blazes is going on out here?" he cried, then his eyes took in the scene before him. Harry standing over Malfoy, wand drawn, and the other bleeding from what appeared to be three sword slashes.

Snape did not bother to ask questions, he simply hurried over to Malfoy, kneeling down beside the stricken boy and chanting a phrase over and over. Slowly, the gaping slashes began to close, enough so that Malfoy wasn't in any danger of dying.

Harry noted in faint astonishment that Snape could still move pretty quickly, cane or no cane.

At last the professor straightened and gave Harry a furious glare. "Where did you learn that spell, Potter? It wasn't one I taught you."

"Sir?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Potter!" Severus barked. "I want to know where the hell you learned Sectumsempra." He glanced down at Malfoy, who was moaning. "My office, Potter. I'll be back to have a long talk with you, after I take Malfoy to the Hospital Wing." He conjured a stretcher and then he floated it down the corridor, limping after it muttering balefully.

For one minute, Harry considered making a break for it. The look in Snape's eyes could have slain a dragon. But he feared that running away would only make things worse, and besides he'd been provoked when he'd cast that spell. He silently cursed Malfoy for his nasty mouth and his dreadful timing. This was all he needed. He walked back into Snape's office glumly, wondering how many points his rash actions had cost his House this time and what kind of detention Snape would give him.

Snape returned five minutes later, his eyes still shooting sparks. He slammed the door to the office so hard some of the potions on his shelves above the desk rattled and nearly fell over. Harry winced, not daring to meet the other's gaze.

Snape came to loom over him, gripping his cane in one white-knuckled fist. "Start talking, Mr. Potter. I want to know where and how you learned Sectumsempra. And don't bother lying, we both know it won't work. So spare yourself the effort and tell me the truth."

Harry hesitated for a long moment. A few months before, he would have lied to the Defense Master's face without a qualm, for he knew Snape was out to get him. Now, however . . .after what the man had endured for his sake and the way he'd helped Harry, he found himself strangely reluctant to break Severus's trust in him by lying.

So he took a deep breath and told his teacher the truth.

Snape then demanded to see the potions book, and Harry summoned it from his quarters, wishing he'd opted for lying instead, because he knew that Snape would confiscate it and then Harry would lose his secret edge for good and all.

Severus took the book and opened it, staring at the inside front cover. He paged rapidly through it, obviously familiar with its contents, came to the page where the Sectumsempra spell was written, then looked up at Harry with a severe frown.

"Mr. Potter, would you care to tell me why you chose to use this particular spell on Mr. Malfoy, when you can clearly read that the spell is to be used for enemies only?"

"Malfoy is my enemy, sir!" Harry defended himself. "I found him snooping about the hallways after my lesson with you, acting unbearably smug, and when I asked him what he was doing he said . . ." The whole story came tumbling out, almost as if Severus had given him Veritaserum, until at last Harry concluded with, "I don't know why I used Sectumsempra instead of another spell, but it just popped into my head at that moment and I was so mad I just said it without thinking. I didn't know what it was going to do to him, and frankly, I didn't care."

"And afterwards?"

"Well, sure I cared, I mean I didn't want him dead or anything like that."

"Sectumsempra is a very powerful offensive spell, to be used only when you intend to kill an enemy. That is why it is not widely used and why I never teach it to students until I'm sure they can be trusted to use it only when necessary."

"I never heard of it before, it's not in The Standard Book of Spells, Volume Six," Harry pointed out, hoping to get Snape in a better mood before he delivered his punishment.

"That's because it was invented after the book was published. Most of the spells in this potions book are unique, invented by the person to whom this book belonged."

"The Half-Blood Prince."

"Correct."

"Did you know him then, sir?" Harry guessed. "Did he teach you the Sectumsempra spell?"

Severus was silent for several long minutes, considering something. Harry prayed it wasn't some God-awful detention. He waited nervously. At last Snape shook his head and said, "He had no need to teach me any of those spells, Potter, because I already knew them. For _I_ am the Half-Blood Prince."

Harry nearly fell out of his chair. "Then this was _your _potions book?"

"The same. I used it often, and bought it secondhand, which is why it's so worn."

"But what's with the nickname?"

"I gave myself that name to remind myself of my origins. I am a half-blood, my father was a Muggle and my mother was a witch. Her name was Eileen Prince. I dared tell no one in my House my true origins, you know what they would have done to me then, and I had enough trouble with your father and Black to go looking for more enemies."

"Was that why you invented Sectumsempra then? To use on Sirius and my dad?" Harry asked angrily.

"No, I invented that spell as a last resort to protect myself from Lucius Malfoy and the others who would later become Death Eaters. Though they called themselves my friends, I knew deep down they weren't and thus I was prepared should the day come when they turned on me, or I them." Snape's eyes narrowed. "Have I answered all your questions, Potter? Or would you like to ask a few more and keep trying to stall me giving you detention?"

Harry shook his head. He knew it was useless to protest, Snape would not relent after this, and in a way Harry knew Severus was right, he deserved to be punished. But he did make one last bid to keep his potions book.

Severus agreed, reluctantly, only after extracting a promise that Harry not use any spells he found in it without consulting him first. Then he said, "You can meet me here tomorrow morning for your detention, Potter."

"Tomorrow?" Harry repeated in dismay. "But Professor, I was going to hold Quidditch tryouts tomorrow morning."

"Too bad. Maybe next time you'll think twice before casting unfamiliar combat spells." Harry groaned. "If you don't like it, stay out of trouble," he added, using an expression he often said to Arista when she got in trouble. He handed the text back to Harry and dismissed him.

Harry left the Defense Against the Dark Arts office for the second time that night, wishing he'd strangled Malfoy instead of cursing him. Then again, at least he had told Snape what Malfoy really thought about him, the sly little ferret. Now the former Potions Master could be on his guard. Forewarned was forearmed.

**So, how did you like that little twist? And just so you know, one detention won't be all Harry's getting.**


	15. Army of Darkness

**Army of Darkness**

Harry ended up serving his detention with Snape at 8 o'clock in the morning. His punishment was to copy over, alphabetize, and organize at least fifty boxes of index cards with various kinds of detentions from past Hogwarts students, including his father and Sirius, Pettigrew, and well as write a three foot essay about the benefits of controlling one's temper and knowing a spell inside out before casting it. Harry stared in dismay at the endless rows of boxes before him. "All _this_!" he exclaimed. "But sir, this'll take forever!"

"Then I suggest you get started, Potter," Snape said, and this time his familiar sneer was back in place. "Whatever you don't finish you can complete tomorrow morning. And all of next week as well."

"I've got detention the whole weekend? And next week?" Harry groaned. He opened his mouth to protest, then slowly closed it when the professor eyed him witheringly.

"You nearly _killed_ a student, young man!" Snape growled. "You're lucky I don't have you in detention for a month, at least. Now quit whining and get started."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered, hating the fact that Snape was right, but knowing that the punishment was deserved. He picked up his quill and began to write.

Severus retreated to his desk to finish marking homework essays, setting a timer on his desk for three hours. Madam Pomfrey had said Malfoy would probably be released from the infirmary tonight, and thereafter Severus would keep a close watch on the young troublemaker. Malfoy's sneering assessment of him to Harry still rankled. _A useless old cripple, am I? We'll see about that, you spoiled shiftless brat! _Severus thought angrily. _Lame leg or no, I can still whip you into shape, Malfoy_. Draco's betrayal hurt him, though he knew he should have expected no less from Lucius' son. He'd been weaned on betrayal, groomed to be a dark wizard from the moment he could talk. Once, he thought he might be able to save the boy from the dark path, but now . . . he doubted if his influence would be enough, or whether it was even worth it to try anymore. He recalled the incident with Marietta, his four-year-old niece, just before Christmas, when Draco had hexed her beloved stuffed dog using a forbidden voodoo spell for the sheer wickedness of it. And the boy had not been sorry at all for his tormenting a little girl, only sorry he'd been caught. No, he had serious doubts about Draco, especially after this latest incident with Harry. Severus still didn't know what had tipped Voldemort off about Snape's true loyalties, and Harry's suspicions about Draco might be right on target.

Only time would tell, the professor mused, scowling down at a student's essay.

* * * * * *  
A week passed, and things appeared to have returned to normal at Hogwarts, at least as far as Arista and the other SR's were concerned. Draco, however, found himself ducking detention at every turn, for Snape still had not forgiven him for his snide comments, and was watching the Slytherin boy like a hawk. Draco complained loudly and often about Snape's unfairness, but the only ones who listened to him were Crabbe and Goyle. Marsh and Hathaway sympathized with him a bit, but they were too wary of earning Snape's wrath to be seen too often in Malfoy's camp.

Then, at the end of the first week of November, Harry, Ron, and Hermione suddenly left the school without warning. One day they were there and the next they were gone and no one seemed to know why. A day later, Dumbledore announced he would be leaving for an unspecified period of time on Ministry business, and appointed Minerva as Acting Deputy Headmistress until he returned, with Severus as her second in command. They had, of course gone away to find the remaining Horcruxes, though this last was known only to Severus and Minerva.

"Weird," Arista remarked to Mel soon after they had heard the news. "The three of them disappearing like that and then Dumbledore leaving too."

"Maybe they had some kind of family emergency or something," the ghostwalker speculated.

"All three of them?" Arista shook her head. "Maybe Ron and Hermione, yes, but not Harry. He's got no one except his aunt and uncle, and I know he doesn't get along with them. It's too much of a coincidence, all of them gone at once. Something's up."

Mel nodded. "Well, whatever it is, it doesn't concern us. Although, something else odd happened just before Dumbledore left. He came to me and asked me to speak to the Gray Lady for him."

"The Ravenclaw ghost?"

"Uh huh. She had some information he needed, and he wanted me to call her so he could speak to her. So I did, and they talked for quite awhile, then he said thank you and went away."

"Did you ask the Lady what they talked about?"

"Of course not! That was private, and I don't go round prying into other people's business," Mel said.

"You aren't the tiniest bit curious about what Dumbledore wanted?"

"Maybe a little," she admitted, "But not enough to command the Lady to tell me what he wanted."

Arista made a face at her. "You're no fun, Seton."

"Just because you _can _do something doesn't mean you should, Snape," Mel scolded mockingly.

"Now you sound like my grandmother," Arista sighed.

"I feel the same way about compelling ghosts as you do about using your empathy on people," Mel said. "I don't like having that kind of power over something or someone. It feels wrong."

"I know," Arista said, understanding perfectly what Mel meant. She'd felt much the same after the incident with Wrackspur. "You just have to be careful how you use it."

"Right," Mel said. Since her ghostwalker abilities had manifested, the castle ghosts were suddenly a whole lot more interested in her and remained polite and respectful to her. Even Peeves the poltergeist showed a remarkable tendency to behave around her, apparently he knew just what a ghostwalker was capable of. Mindful of her new status, Mel was careful not to abuse it, for she had a feeling she would need the goodwill of the ghosts before long, if the rumors in the papers were true.

Almost every day, the Daily Prophet ran an article about how Death Eaters and followers of Voldemort had been sighted, spreading fear and terror throughout the populace. _Who's Next?_ had been the banner headline on the front page two days ago. Other rumors had started too, of dementors being brought under the control of Voldemort and there had been a mass breakout of several notorious criminals from Azkaban, including Dirk Wrackspur.

People had reported sightings of a Grim wandering about, and shadowy fiends flitting across the moon and hearing the howling of several banshees, which portended death. Trelawney was in her glory, predicting doom and devastation at almost every class session. Arista was waiting for her to predict the death of someone besides Harry Potter.

The other teachers were doing their best to try and act as if everything were normal, but the students knew something terrible loomed in the wind, and the atmosphere was tense and fearful. The only teacher who didn't try to sugarcoat anything was Severus, who said frankly that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was going to send an army forth very soon, and in case the worst happened, they must be prepared to meet it.

Thus he increased their dueling sessions, and taught them even more strenuously shielding and defense charms, as well as some offensive spells that would enable them to hold their own if they had to fight a Death Eater or two. "Do the unexpected, that'll throw off your enemy, and once he's caught off balance, then you strike and hit him hard. Don't hesitate, because this is one time mercy will be useless, you're fighting for your lives now."

"Sir, you want us to kill someone?" protested Hannah Abbot.

Snape nodded. "Yes, Miss Abbot, that is exactly what you have to do. They'll be trying to kill you, and therefore you have to be prepared to kill them first. I know this is a hard concept for you to grasp, but you have to fight or else you'll die. The Death Eaters have no compunction about killing children, believe me."

He knew that the Ministry and most likely Minerva would not approve of his new curriculum, but he found he did not care in the slightest. He was beyond following Ministry-approved methods like sheep. What he had foreseen so many years before as a new professor at Hogwarts had come to pass, and now the only hope this new generation had was to be able to survive long enough for Harry and the others to find the Horcruxes and destroy them. It was Severus's job to make sure that hope was not in vain.

So he made all of his students study more about blocking curses and practicing Ricochet and Mirror Defense and Whirlwind Deflection and Shadow Feint until they were ready to collapse. He returned to his drill sergeant methods and more than one of the girls left his dueling sessions in tears. None of them were his daughters, or their friends, however.

"Please, Professor Snape, I can't cast anymore," pleaded Hannah Abbot after one particularly grueling session. She was sitting on the ground, having been knocked on the floor by her dueling partner, Ginny Weasley, her wand held limply in one hand.

"On your feet, Abbot!" Severus barked, giving her one of his famous glares. "You've still got your wand, now use it!"

"Please, sir, I'm too tired . . .!"

"Up, young lady, and quit sniveling, you sound like a crybaby two-year-old," he yelled. "Are you going to cry to a Death Eater that you're tired and need to rest for a bit?" he sneered, coming over to stand next to them. "He'll spit in your face and kill you quick as that!" He snapped his fingers for emphasis. "Now get up, before I take fifteen points from Hufflepuff, Abbot!"

Groaning, the girl climbed to her feet, and resumed her rather shaky dueling stance.

Severus eyed her sternly, then moved on to inspect another pair.

After class, Trish was behind Hannah and Justin Finch-Fletchley, who'd also been the recipient of a tongue-lashing from the Defense Master for being too slow in countering a hex, and heard them muttering about how nasty and unfair Severus was being.

"I think he's even worse now than when he was Potions Master," Hannah was saying. "I mean, I was nearly dropping dead of exhaustion and he comes over and screams at me like I was a house elf, the nasty bugger!"

"He's gotten nastier recently, that's for sure," agreed Justin. "I mean we're not in the bloody army, for crying out loud."

Trish listened to their whining complaints with mounting aggravation, until suddenly she couldn't stand it anymore. "You _still _don't get it, do you, idiots?" she exploded, pushing past them to glare at them in disgust. "He's doing what he has to in order to keep you alive, haven't you been paying any attention for Godsakes? If he's not tough on you now, you're gonna die when Voldemort's army comes here. Better him now than a Death Eater later, I say."

Hannah and Justin stared at her, their eyes wide, for Trish never lost her temper or shouted, the way she had been doing.

Then Hannah declared angrily, "Since when do you defend _Snape,_ of all people, Trish?"

"Since he saved my life, and not to mention, all our lives, by spying on You-Know-Who," Trish answered. "He nearly died and all you do is complain about how unfair he's being, you selfish cow!"

"Look who's talking, Greenbough!" Justin laughed. "That's the pot calling the kettle black, all right!"

Trish whirled on him. "Shut your mouth, you dumb twit!"

"And if I don't? You gonna run and tell on me?" he taunted.

"Don't need to when I can do this!" she snapped, then she hauled off and punched him in the mouth.

He was so shocked he fell over and Hannah gasped and cried, "Greenbough, you're nuts!"

"No, Abbot, what I am is sick and tired of people like you!" Trish growled, and gave the girl a look that could have stopped a charging rhino.

Hannah, no fool, quickly backed off, and Justin scrambled to his feet and ran off, much to the amusement of several Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs watching.

"That's telling them, Trish!" Kit said, and clapped her on the shoulder.

Trish blushed bright red and whispered, "I can't believe I just did that."

"Neither could Justin, the twit," snickered Neville.

"Is there a problem here?" Severus asked silkily, coming up behind them so quietly that they all jumped.

"No, sir," Trish said quickly, praying he hadn't seen her punch Justin.

"Trish was just recapping your lesson for Abbot," Kit put in hastily. Then he grabbed Trish's arm and said, "Gotta run, Professor, or else we'll be late for Divination." He quickly dragged Trish down the hallway and the other students swiftly followed his example.

Severus raised an eyebrow at their hasty departure, then shrugged and went back inside his classroom.

* * * * * *

Another week went by, and more bad news came pouring in. There had been sightings of ghouls and revenants along the Highland roads, kelpies in Loch Ness, and a dragon had been spotted over York, a Welsh green. An old woman had reported finding a giant footprint in her vegetable patch near Surrey. The Ministry was trying to keep everything under wraps, so as not to panic the populace, but Scrimgeour couldn't deny everything, and his Aurors were kept busy day and night tracking down rumors and raiding suspected dark wizard's homes.

Concerned parents, once they discovered that Dumbledore was no longer at Hogwarts, pulled several students from the school, figuring they were safer at home. Their apparent distrust wounded Minerva, who confided to Severus in private, "It's absolutely absurd, the way they're behaving, Severus. I'm perfectly capable of running this school while Albus is away and the children are as safe here as anywhere."

"I know, Minerva, but they're scared, and they think that by keeping their children nearby, they can keep them safe. I don't think you should take it personally. You can't please everyone."

"I suppose not, but I wish some of those parents would stop acting like brainless chickens and start using the brains God gave them," the Headmistress said irritably.

"I think you're asking for a miracle," Severus said with a wry chuckle.

Minerva laughed softly. "This once, Severus, I fear you're right. Oh, well, we shall simply have to make the best of it. How are the school defenses holding up?"

"Very well, since I've strengthened them three times their normal levels. I've got Poppy growing some more Gigantor Venus flytraps and some Devil's Snare and Creeping Doom about the grounds near the walls and the entrance."

"Good! That'll give some dark witch or two a nasty surprise when they come tromping around here. And I trust you've warded all the fireplaces with scramble powder as well to prevent unauthorized entry?"

"Of course, and I've sealed all the secret exits I could find into and out of the school. It might be wise to allow Hagrid to loose some of his, um, shall we say, more carnivorous pets, like Fluffy, if Voldemort's army comes any closer."

"A good idea, Severus. I'll give Hagrid permission if and when that becomes necessary. Albus already spoke to the centaurs and they've agreed to close the borders of the Forest to anyone bearing a Dark Mark or smelling of dark magic." She coughed pointedly, eyeing Severus's left arm. "Oh dear, I quite forgot that you, uh . . ."

"Once bore the Mark myself," Snape finished. He rolled up his sleeve, displaying his left arm. The skin was shiny and unmarked by the brand of the skull and the serpent.

"But how . . .?"

"It happened when Arista healed me. When she reconstructed my arm, she erased the Dark Mark from my skin somehow. Now the only scars I bear are in here," he tapped his head with the white lock of hair. "And they're fading more and more everyday."

"I'm glad, Severus," Minerva said feelingly. "So the Forest is on alert, and if need be, they'll come to our aid."

"The only concern I have is an attack from the air, but we can't prevent everything," Severus sighed. "It's too bad Fireflash or some of the other bronze dragons weren't here, then they could patrol the skies easily." He grimaced slightly and rubbed his left leg surreptitiously. "The sins of our ancestors have come back to haunt us, I'm afraid. What the Dragonslayer Guild sowed centuries ago now we reap."

"Too true, my friend. Ah well, while I wouldn't mind a bronze dragon or two, we'll manage without them. At least we still have you to plan strategy and such, Severus."

Snape shrugged, embarrassed. "I'll do my best, Minerva, but I'm no Alexander or Achilles."

"Keep the students safe, Severus, that's all I ask."

"I shall endeavor to do so," Severus promised. "Would you like a cup of my stress tea, I find it works wonders on tension headaches."

"Yes, thank you, I'd love some," the Headmistress smiled, and the Potions Master summoned up his teakettle and set some tea brewing immediately.

********  
Then it happened, the thing they all feared. Scrimgeour was betrayed from within the Ministry by one of his own, the sweet but poisonous Dolores Umbridge, who had been promised a position of power and authority in the new regime if she turned traitor and let the Death Eaters into the Minister of Magic's private study. Umbridge had always disliked Scrimgeour, for he championed half-bloods and werewolves and the like, and he was not a pushover like Fudge. So she felt no qualms in handing him over to his enemies.

Scrimgeour fought, but he was overwhelmed in the end, though he took a number of them with him before he died. But the damage had been done. The Minister of Magic was slain and Voldemort's followers had gained control of the government.

That was the signal the Dark Lord had been waiting for. He summoned up the last of his evil allies, a legion of vampires from Transylvania and the company of giants he'd held in reserve at his secret base in Albania in the Carpathian Mountains. These, together with his necromancers and dementors and night haunts, trolls, and imps formed the majority of his army.

It was a gathering of evil creatures such as had not been seen since the elder days, during the time of Arthur and Merlin. Banshees and night hags flew in his train, as well as wyverns and fell hounds. Hell itself had answered Voldemort's summons and now he turned them loose to wreak havoc on the innocents, Muggle and wizard alike.

The Aurors tried to mount a defense, but they'd been caught off guard, and were woefully undermanned. All they could do was perform strike and run tactics, and chip away at the army of darkness a tiny bit at a time.

The dark horde advanced across Britain like an unstoppable tide, and people fled in fear as the shadow of the Dark One rose to cover the land once more.

And somewhere in the wilderness, a small band of wizards sought desperately for the means to end the threat for good and all.

Back at Hogwarts, Severus, Minerva, and the rest of the staff prepared for an assault. For there was no doubt that the army of darkness was approaching, Voldemort had turned his eye to conquering the school, the last bastion of the Light against the dark shadow.

The unthinkable had come to pass, and war had come to Hogwarts. Only time would tell if the school would survive, as the Dark Lord threw the might of his army against the magical defenses of the Founders and the determination and brains of Severus Snape, Master of Defense and former secret agent.

**And so it begins . . .the last battle for Hogwarts!**


	16. Enter the Dragons

**PART THREE**

**THE FINAL BATTLE FOR HOGWARTS**

**Enter the Dragons**

THUD!

The boulder crashed into the ground a scant ten feet from the outer wall of the castle. It had been flung with deadly accuracy by a giant, one of the hundreds that massed just outside the gates of Hogwarts. The dark army had lost a few of their number crossing the Black Lake, for Arista had requested the aid of the mermaid Water Mistress Amlioranee, whose life she had saved two years ago when she'd first come to Hogwarts. That act had created a kind of life debt between them, and the Water Mistress had promised Arista that if ever she needed aid from the merpeople, she had but to ask. She had done so, a week past, when the dark army had first been sighted.

The Water Mistress had responded with her own brand of magic, making the lake foam with huge waves even though there was no stormy weather, and when the dark wizards and their allies had attempted to cross, she'd conjured huge waterspouts and whirlpools. The great black squid had also been commanded to attack any who set foot in the lake, and it proved a most formidable opponent.

At least until the Death Eaters, under the command of Lucius Malfoy, had grown tired of losing men and creatures to the surging black waters, and had turned the lake into a sheet of ice about a foot thick, neatly trapping the Water Mistress and her allies beneath the surface.

Eventually, Amlioranee and her people might be able to counteract the dark spellcasting, but the ice sheet held long enough for a company of giants and werewolves under the command of Fenrir Greyback to advance across the ice to the castle gates. Several more werewolves had fallen due to Professor Sprout's carnivorous plants, but even they were not enough to halt the giants, who immediately began throwing boulders at the walls.

The castle had been built to withstand such an assault for a time. Severus had stationed patrols of seventh and sixth years skilled in repelling missiles along the Astronomy tower and the top of the bridges and walls, using Reducto charms and Excelsior charms to render the giants' rocks harmless.

"Incoming!" Kit shouted, and the SR's readied their wands and Arista linked them with her empathy. They were atop the Astronomy Tower, a coveted position, because they could see for miles around.

Four huge boulders streaked towards the wall, flung by four giant hands.  
"Reducto!" they all shouted and five beams of green light shot out from their wands, combining into one huge beam that reduced the boulders to mere pebbles in an instant.

"Good job!" Arista praised, and her friends all exchanged grins.

They had been stationed here because of their unique skills with combination magic, and it was soon becoming apparent that their special bond was going to prove invaluable to the defense of the school. Using combination magic, they could stop twice and three times the amount of rocks the giants hurled and twice they had managed to cast Ricochet and turn the boulders back on the giants, critically injuring at least two of them and several werewolves and night hags as well.

They had cast an extended version of Excelsior that stretched across half of the battlements, shielding their fellow students from the worst of the spells the dark wizards cast at them. The castle had been under siege for a week now, and most of the students had grown accustomed to the pounding and the shaking.

Classes had been cancelled since the bulk of the dark army had come into view, and now those students willing to fight for their school had all been pressed into service by Snape. There had been a school meeting in the Great Hall once the army of darkness had been sighted, with Headmistress McGonagall requesting that all the students in attendance remain loyal to their school and help to defend it.

She and Professor Snape had stood on the platform in front of the staff table and requested that all students willing to swear an oath of loyalty to defend their school come up and stand on the right of the dais. Those who felt they could not swear due to a conflict of interest should stand to the left. Professor Snape would record the names of those remaining loyal to Hogwarts on a piece of parchment, and Minerva would note the names of those unwilling to swear loyalty on another.

All of the Gryffindors immediately pledged their loyalty to the school. So too did the majority of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Then it was the Slytherins turn. Snape eyed the students of his House with a reproving glare. Everyone waited with baited breath.

Then Drake stood up and crossed over to stand with Arista and the rest of the SR's. He cast a scathing look over at the rest of his fellow Housemates. "What's _wrong_ with all of you?" he cried angrily. "Hogwarts is your school, are you going to stand by and let scum and monsters tear it down, or are you going to fight back? Are you cowards or king snakes?"

For a long moment none of the Slytherins moved.

Then a tall blond haired boy stepped forward. It was James Hathaway.

"Lockwood's right. I'm not gonna stand by and let monsters and slimeballs ruin everything we've built here. I'm for Hogwarts! Now who's with me?"

He crossed the room to stand next to Drake, who wore an expression of utter shock.

Over half the Slytherins rose and followed him, thrusting their fists in the air and screaming, "Hogwarts forever! Down with bloody Voldy!"

Brittany Marsh remained on the left hand side of the room, hesitating. It was well-known that her father had cast his lot with the new regime to save his own skin, taking a handsome bribe from Voldemort. Now the former queen bee of the school bit her lip and wavered, torn between loyalty to her family and loyalty to her school and her boyfriend.

"C'mon, Brit!" Hathaway called. "What are you waiting for, girl? Get your rich behind over here."

"But Jim . . ." she protested. "My father . . ."

"Do what's right for once, Marsh!" Drake said suddenly. "You always take the easy way out. Think for yourself, why don't you? You gonna let your daddy tell you what to do all your life, or are you gonna grow up and make up your own mind for once?"

"You saying I can't make up my own mind, Lockwood?" Brittany yelled, flushing scarlet.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, Marsh Maid!" Drake taunted. "You just do as you're told, like a puppet on a string."

"Like hell I do!"

"Then why are you still over there with all those rejects, Brit?" Hathaway shouted. "Is Lockwood right after all?"

"No!" Brittany cried, then walked over to stand next to Hathaway. "To the bloody hell with my father. I'm nobody's puppet, Lockwood!"

"Guess not," Drake admitted grudgingly, giving her a nod of approval.

Several other members of Brittany's little court circle, who'd also been sitting on the fence, now came over to stand with their friends, pledging their loyalty as well.

A quarter of Slytherin House remained opposed to McGonagall's decree, as well as a few from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw who had parents or siblings who were pureblood supporters of Voldemort. Among them were Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle.

Their fellow schoolmates glared at them angrily.

Minerva noted down all those who refused to remain loyal to Hogwarts, then announced that as a result of their decision, those students had now declared themselves public enemies and were under house arrest, forbidden to leave their common rooms.

"You can't do that to us!" Malfoy cried, his gray eyes blazing. "It's bloody unfair!"

"So is your refusal to swear loyalty to this institution, Mr. Malfoy," Minerva returned crisply, glaring at him. "Hogwarts has fed and sheltered you for years and nurtured your growing magical talents and _this _is how you repay her?"

Malfoy sneered. "My father's thrown more money into this pile of rocks than you'll ever see in a lifetime, you dried up old harpy. And it was all wasted on idiots and Mudbloods. Just wait until he comes here, then you'll see what it means to be a wizard, Professor! He won't let Mudblood lovers and cripples run this school into the ground like you have."

Several of the students gasped at Malfoy's rudeness and utter disregard for Minerva's authority.

Minerva drew herself up to her full height and scowled down at the sneering sixteen-year-old. "Is that your final word, Mr. Malfoy?"

"It is . . .Professor," and the way he said her title was pure mockery.

"Keep a civil tongue in your head when you speak to the Headmistress, Malfoy!" Severus growled, incensed by the boy's lack of respect.

"Why should I . . .sir?" Malfoy demanded scornfully, looking at the Defense Master's cane pointedly.

Severus flashed him a look that could have melted stone. "Because, Malfoy, as your Head of House, I say you will."

Malfoy cringed slightly. Then he drew himself up and looked Snape in the eye. "Sorry, but I don't take orders from Muggle supporters and cripples . . ._sir_."

"Why you filthy . . .!" Arista cried, and would have lunged across the room to attack Malfoy if Drake hadn't held her back.

Mel latched onto Trish as well, who looked like she wanted to curse the sneering boy into smithereens.

"Excuse me?" Severus said in a deadly soft tone. "But did you just call me a _cripple,_ Malfoy?"

He stepped off the dais and walked over to confront the stiff-necked Malfoy eye-to-eye. "Would you care to repeat that, boy?"

Malfoy stepped back a pace. Then he said in a jeering tone, "Once you were someone I respected, Severus Snape, but all you are now is a useless old cripple, good for nothing but target practice! When the Dark Lord comes here, you'll die on your knees like a coward, old man!"

"Oh, really?" Severus arched an eyebrow. "On the contrary, boy, it's _you_ who's good for target practice." Then he drew back his hand and slapped Malfoy hard across the face, knocking the arrogant boy to his knees. "Now _that's_ something your father ought've done a long time ago."

Malfoy put a hand to his stinging face, whimpering, "You _hit_ me!"

"Get up, Malfoy!" Snape ordered coldly. "Lucius Malfoy doesn't run this school yet, and as long as Professor McGonagall is Deputy Headmistress here, you will address her with respect, am I understood? Well? Answer me!"

"Yes . . .sir," Malfoy whined, tears glistening in his eyes, all the bravado knocked out of him.

"Good. Now get your sorry backside down to the common room and stay there like she told you. Move!" he roared, and Malfoy sprang to his feet and bolted, running like a hare being chased by a fox. Severus looked at the rest of the students gathered on the left side. "That goes for the rest of you too!"

They didn't need to be told twice. All of them departed the Great Hall at the same time. It was practically a stampede. No one was sorry to see them go.

Severus rejoined Minerva on the dais. The Headmistress looked at the Potions Master askance, but did not reprimand him for his unorthodox behavior. Instead she informed the rest of the students that their classes were cancelled for the time being, and they should return to their Houses, where they could rest and anyone who wanted to could volunteer for defense duty with Professor Snape.

"Simply give your name to your prefects and they will submit them to Professor Snape, who will then assign you a specific area and duty to perform. Schedules of patrols and such will be posted here, to be amended as necessary. I thank you all for your unwavering support and bid you goodnight. Dismissed."

A roar of approval and applause greeted that statement.

"Down with Voldy! Hogwarts rules!"

"McGonagall all the way!" cheered the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Way to go, Snape!" yelled the SR's. "Kick Malfoy's ass, the sniveling little coward!"

"That's telling him, sir!" cried Hathaway and several of his supporters. "Now go and kick his dad's arse too! Malfoy stinks!"

It was a few moments before the teachers managed to get the students calmed down enough to leave the Hall in an orderly fashion, and Severus had to issue strict orders to some of his more rowdy House members to leave Draco alone, lest murder be committed.

"Can we rough him up just a little, sir?" pleaded Hathaway. "Just break a few fingers and knock out half the teeth in his head?"

"Break his kneecaps!" someone else shouted.

But Severus remained firm. "Malfoy is not to be touched. Anyone who breaks that rule will deal with _me_." And he fixed them with his sternest glower. "Now, go back to the common room, all of you."

They all began to file out of the hall, whispering among themselves.

Minerva turned to her colleague and said quietly, "Thank you, Severus."

"You're welcome, Minerva. I've been wanting to do that for years."

"So have I," she admitted with a wicked smile.

All of that had occurred over a week before. In order to ensure that none of the students who remained loyal to Voldemort caused trouble, Severus had recommended that Minerva confiscate their wands. She had done so, keeping them locked up in the curio cabinet in the Headmistress' office. Then she turned to working with the staff on preparing the school defenses.

No student was allowed outside the castle at night, for that was when Hagrid's Fluffy and several hippogriffs and manticores were set loose. They would attack anything that looked like a portable meal, and the manticores—creatures with the body of a lion, the head of a man, tail of a scorpion, and the wings of a bat—were very partial to human flesh. Hagrid had managed to snare five of them, and only he could control the dangerous creatures.

"Sure wish I had Norbert back, though," he lamented one night to Professor Snape and Flitwick. "That'd put a proper scare into those wicked Death Eaters, so it would!"

"Probably, but the Norwegian Ridgeback would also turn on us, they can't be trusted, so it's best he's gone," Severus pointed out, much to Hagrid's dismay.

All students were required to walk about in pairs, and the prefects patrolled in groups of threes, just in case an enemy managed to infiltrate the castle. All of the castle portraits had been asked to be alert and sound an alarm if they saw anything unusual. Severus still held sessions in the mornings for all those students wishing to patrol the upper battlements of the castle. Arista and the SR's attended those meetings faithfully, and Severus made them Captains of the patrol squads, which were composed of groups of six, and were mainly those students who were skilled in Defense magics. They patrolled in shifts of three hours each and wore special whistles about their necks, to summon help if needed.

Mel had offered to summon up as many ghosts as she could to help defend Hogwarts, but Severus had told her to wait. "Not just yet, Seton. We don't want to reveal our hand too soon, so we'll keep you in reserve. This is just the first wave, we'll need your specters later on, when the vampires and ghouls attack. Wait, ghostwalker."

So Mel returned to casting combination magic with the other SR's.

That evening, they had managed to deflect twenty more boulders and large pieces of rock thrown by the giants and trolls. "You'd think they'd quit throwing the stuff at us already!" Kit panted in disgusted, squinting out over the grounds to the large mass of giants gathered by the entrance to the school grounds. "It's not working."

"Giants are nothing if not stubborn," Drake stated. "And who knows, some of them could get lucky."

"Some of them did," Mel pointed out, indicating sections of the wall that were cracked and broken, sections that had been hastily mended with Excelsior.

Arista's gaze was drawn to an odd black speck in the sky to the east. "What's that?" she pointed to it. "Drake, can you use your dragonsight amulet to see?"

"No problem," Drake pulled out the bronze dragonscale amulet he'd been given as a reward for defeating the dragonslayers last summer and rubbed it with a finger. "Dragoneyes."

The magic in the scale flared, and suddenly Drake's eyes were no longer those of a boy but of a bronze dragon. He turned to look in the direction Arista was pointing.

His fingers clenched into white knuckled fists on his wand and he swore. "Bloody hell, Arista! It's a whole wing of wyverns. And they're carrying rocks and stuff in their talons."

Arista paled. "Damn! I was afraid of this. It's an airborne assault."

"What do we do?" Mel cried.

"Trish, call Dad on your spellophone and tell him what's going on," Arista ordered. "Drake, can you give me numbers?"

"Uh, yeah, Hang on." He peered hard at the black dot, which was growing larger by the minute. "Ten . . .twelve . . .eighteen, Arista! They've got _eighteen_ bloody wyverns attacking us!"

Trish had taken out her spellophone disk and now she spoke into it, "Severus, we've got a really big problem over here!"

Snape's face rose out of the image gel. "What's the matter, Trish?"

"They're uh sending about eighteen wyverns at us with rocks and things, sir! What do we do? I don't think we can stop that many."

"Eighteen _wyverns_? Goddamn it, how do you know that?"

"Drake's using his dragoneye pendant, sir!"

Snape snarled something under his breath. "All right. Here's what I want you to do. Use your combination magic to cast a Sunburst charm, one concentrated pulse of light right across their path. Wyverns hate bright light, and it might delay them a little. Afterwards, you get down from there and come back inside the main part of the school. The Astronomy Tower's not meant to withstand twenty tons of rocks dropped by wyverns. Are you clear on that, Tricia?"

"Yes, sir. Trish out." She closed the disk. "Okay guys, you heard him. One Sunburst and then we're outta here."

"Right," Arista said, linking them all once again. "On three. One. Two. Three. Magnus illuminus!"

Orange sparks shot out from their wands, combining into one great pulse of blinding light that flashed across the sky, illuminating the dusk as though it were noon.  
They could hear the screams of the wyverns even at a distance.

"Guess they sure didn't like that!" Kit cheered.

"Drake, what are they doing?" Mel asked.

"Half a minute, I need to let my eyes adjust to the light," he muttered, but luckily bronze dragons loved sunlight and their eyes had no problem dealing with it. He blinked twice and then he could see perfectly well. "They're veering off to the left, away from the school. Some of them are shaking their heads and some are stopped. Ha! One just slammed into another one and dropped all the rocks they were carrying."

Mel and Arista let out a yell.

"But the rest are still coming." Drake reported with a sigh. "Good as that pulse was, it's only delayed them."

"Should we try it again?" Kit asked.

"No, Severus said only once," Trish reminded them. "Now we'd better clear out of here like he told us. Before they bring the Tower down on our heads."

Arista fingered her two dragonscale pendants thoughtfully. "I wish there were some way we could mount an aerial assault of our own. I can transform into a dragon for an hour or two, but it's not enough. Even in Dragonshape, I'm no match for eighteen wyverns."

"Don't even think about it," Drake ordered, eyeing Arista sternly. "Severus would have your hide if you pulled that kind of stupid stunt again. Once was enough."

"I wasn't going to, Lockwood, so quit worrying," she returned impishly. "I'm not suicidal, you know. Come on, let's go." She began to make her way down the stairs.

The others quickly followed.

"If only we had Fireflash and Sunstrike here," Drake sighed wistfully. "They'd nail those wyverns like nobody's business."

"Tell me about it," Arista said regretfully. "If we had a few bronze dragons over here . . ." She halted so suddenly Drake banged into her. "Wait a minute! Why can't we have them here . . .?"

"Uh, cause they're like an ocean away in America?" Kit reminded her. "Remember, Snape?"

"An ocean's nothing to a bronze dragon," Arista waved a hand dismissively. She fingered the second dragonscale pendant. "I'm an idiot! Why didn't I think of this before?" She turned to Drake. "Drake, we've never used the other side of the scale. The one that let's us call on them for help."

Drake's eyes lit with instant comprehension. "Holy God, you're right! Sardonyx said they owe us a lifedebt. What if we call it in now?"

"What are you two babbling about?" Mel asked.

"It's worth a shot," Arista agreed. She turned her second dragonscale pendant around until the rune for summoning faced outward. Then she rubbed it gently and called, "Sardonyx! Can you hear me? It's Healer Arista Snape."

Beside her Drake did the same with his amulet, calling Fireflash.

For several moments nothing happened.

Then the scales blazed with a soft amber light and turned transparent. Suddenly Sardonyx's head appeared in the center of Arista's scale. "You called, Healer Snape? How may I assist you, Dragonfriend?"

"Um, well, our school's under attack by a wing of wyverns and we could really use your help," Arista told him.

Next to her Drake was talking to Fireflash. "What d'you mean, you've been under attack for weeks?" the younger bronze dragon was growling. "A dark army shows up on your doorstep and you don't think to ask us for help? What was Sev thinking?"

"I don't know, why don't you ask him?" Drake answered.

"I will, as soon as I can get a couple of my cousins and such together. Tell Sev to sit tight, the cavalry's on its way. We'll take those sneaky carrion eaters down, just you wait!"

"Thanks, Flash!" Then Drake's scale went dark.

Sardonyx listened gravely to Arista for several moments, then said, "As always, Healer Snape, we will assist you in any way we can. Your enemies are our enemies, child. I shall call a Council Meeting immediately and as soon as we have gathered enough volunteers from my Brightwings clan and the Silver Talons, we shall fly. Expect us by the next dawn. Good luck to you, Healer Snape!"

Then he too was gone.

Drake and Arista grinned and gave each other a high five. "Let's see how Lucius and Voldy handle this!" Drake said.

"C'mon, let's go and tell Dad about our new secret weapons," Arista said eagerly and they practically flew down the stairs.

* * * * * *

Professor Snape was a little miffed at them when they told him about summoning the bronzes to help them, but even he couldn't deny that having the dragons there would help them immensely. "Next time, however, ask before you do something like that," he lectured sternly. Arista and Drake hung their heads. "I'm the Defense Master here, not you two, and as such the decisions regarding allies should be made with my consent, is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" the two chorused.

"Very well. I trust you won't repeat that mistake again," he sighed. "When did Fireflash say they would arrive, Drake?"

"Uh, he wasn't very specific about time, sir, but my best guess would be tomorrow morning, probably."

Headmistress McGonagall was startled. "But how can they get here that fast? It's over five hundred miles away!"

"Nothing flies faster than a bronze dragon on a mission, Minerva," Severus answered. "They're the fastest things with wings on the planet."

Arista nodded in agreement, though she knew as well as her father that the bronze dragons would most likely not be flying all that way at all. If they did, they'd be useless in combat for a day, and their advantage would be lost. No, the bronzes would use the portals instead, which enabled a dragon and his allies to jump from place to place instantaneously, rather like a Port Key. But the portals were a carefully guarded secret, and never to be revealed to outsiders, so Severus, Arista, and Drake never spoke of them in mixed company.

"I see. Well, however they get here, I'm just grateful for their assistance," Minerva said. "I'm amazed they even agreed to help us, considering the terrible history between their kind and ours."

"Well, they pledged to help us if we ever asked for it, because we performed a valuable service for them one summer," Severus explained. "We tracked down and defeated a group of dragonslayers that was slaughtering bronzes, they wanted to bring back the Dragonslayer Guild over in America, and not so incidentally, drum up support for Voldemort too."

"But we put paid to that scheme," Drake said. "And in return Sardonyx, the leader of the Dragon Council, gave us these dragonscale amulets and the right to summon help from them if we ever needed it. Which we definitely do."

"I can't deny that, Mr. Lockwood," said Minerva. "Only next time, please inform us ahead of time, since we are in charge here, not you."

"Sorry, Professor. I guess we were, ah, a little too hasty," Drake apologized again. "We'll promise to ask next time."

Minerva sniffed, mollified by his sincere apology. "See that you do, young man. You may go."

The two students rose and departed her office, relieved to have gotten off so lightly, without any House points deducted or detentions.

The wyverns continued to bombard the castle all through the night, and no one got much sleep for the slamming of the rocks against the castle shields and the courtyard was terribly loud. Poor Comfrey was so frazzled, she spent the entire night hiding under the covers shivering in Arista's arms. The booming crashes and the wyverns' high-pitched shrieks when they dropped a load of rocks down grated on Scout's sensitive ears too. The magehound, normally a quiet dog, spent half the night whimpering and howling, until Severus gave the poor animal a Dreamless Sleep Potion.

Several of the students spent the night huddled beneath their covers too, and more than a few of them cried themselves to sleep, fearing the school was going to collapse on them. Madam Pomfrey was kept busy dispensing Calming Elixirs and Sleeping Drafts, and she nearly ran out of them, so Severus went down to the dungeons to brew up some more. He was assisted by Trish, who insisted if she weren't kept busy, the terrible noise would drive her mad, it was impossible to sleep through it.

The Potions Master was touched by his foster daughter's thoughtfulness and accepted her help gratefully. With Trish's assistance, he would be done in half the time. The two brewed companionably for several hours, though the girl winced every time a rock struck the ground, making the walls quiver slightly.

"Relax, Trish," Severus said gruffly. "We're perfectly safe down here, it would take at least two tons of rocks to even make a dent in the walls here. This place is spelled to withstand anything short of an earthquake."

"You sure about that, Severus?"

"Positive. This is the safest place in the castle as far as explosions go, it's why we have Potions down here." Severus reassured her, stirring a cauldron of Calming Elixir.

"I wish I was like Arista." Trish said enviously. "She fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow and hasn't woken up since."

"Arista can sleep through an earthquake," her father remarked, smiling wryly. "Like most teenagers I know."

"Except me," Trish sighed.

"Which is a good thing for me, since with your help I'll be done twice as quickly. Madam Pomfrey will be needing these drafts for more than just nerves before this is over, I'm afraid."

Trish nodded gravely, understanding what he was hinting at. For though no student had yet gotten hurt, she knew it was only a matter of time before someone was injured or worse. This was a war, and she was not naïve enough to assume they'd come off without casualties, not given whom they were up against. All she could do was pray that no one she cared about died, or herself either.

Snape's near brush with death had scared her terribly, to the point that she sometimes still had nightmares over it. Funny, how her foster father's mortality bothered her so much, even more so than her biological parents' supposed demise. She guessed it was because Severus was one of the few adults in her life who truly loved her for herself alone, and not for selfish reasons the way Glinda or Louis had. Their love had always come with conditions, and when Tricia had refused to meet them, it was withdrawn in a flash. Then too, neither Glinda nor Louis was in constant danger of being killed the way Snape was.

Thus, the time she spent here with Severus was doubly precious to her, more so because she so rarely got him all to herself at school. "Arista told me tonight that the dragons are coming to help us from America. I'm so glad, but do you really think that we'll ever win against Voldemort?" she asked in a small voice, then blushed and looked down at her cauldron, expecting to be scolded for even saying such a thing.

But Snape did not yell at her for the comment. Instead he answered, "I know it may seem like his army has the upper hand right now, but trust me, he's not as all-powerful as he seems. Remember, we defeated him once before, and we can do it again. And we will. As my late wife was fond of quoting, nothing is impossible with magic."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Yes. I'm alive today because Arista believed that, Trish. I had both feet on the Path of the Dead when she called me back. She didn't save me by her healing power alone, but by a combination of it and her belief that she could accomplish the impossible. Poppy Pomfrey had already given me up for dead, you see, but Arista refused to and that made all the difference."

"Were you, uh, afraid there, sir?"

"A little, yes," he admitted. "But I was in so much pain, it was a relief for me not to feel anything, so being there was quite relaxing actually. Then I saw Amelia there, and whatever fears I'd had about dying vanished. Death was nothing to fear if she was there waiting for me."

"So it's true then? All that stuff about the ones you love that have died being there on the Other Side?"

"Yes. You don't travel the starry road alone, Trish. Trust me on that. But that's all I know about it, since I was called back. Still, the single glimpse I had, of bright green hills and endless summer sunshine and Amelia standing there waiting for me, was enough to make me never fear death again."

"But what about all those stories about the Judgement of God?"

"I don't know if there is such a thing, perhaps that's just something the priests made up to frighten us into behaving better. Or perhaps not. In any case, I'm not going to worry too much about that now, since I've no intention of dying for a long time."

"I know, but what if . . ."

"Now don't start playing what if, Tricia Greenbough, that'll only make you insane with worry." He came and put an arm about her, and she leaned into his shoulder. "Take each day as it comes and quit trying to predict the future, okay?"

"Okay. I'll try."

"That's my girl." He patted her back comfortingly. "Now let's finish brewing these potions so we can both get some rest."

Another crash reverberated through the room and Trish shuddered.

"I'll never sleep with all that racket."

"I'll give you a Sleeping Draft if you want," Severus said.

"Yeah, that's a good idea, thanks." She hugged him for a long moment before stepping back and returning to her cauldron. The nervous butterflies in her stomach had vanished. Severus's reassurances had eased her mind considerably and she finished her work with a light heart, bid Severus goodnight, took the potion he gave her and returned to her room.

* * * * * *

The bombarding by the wyverns ceased somewhere around six o'clock in the morning, when the sun rose. Wyverns hated bright light, and they retreated to find a cave to hole up for the afternoon. But the siege did not let up, for now the giants advanced and began catapulting boulders at the walls.

Ginny was on patrol with Neville and Cho Chang on the east side of the castle ramparts, opposite them were Arista, Drake and Trish. Mel and Kit were down in the dining hall, eating breakfast, they'd been given patrol duty inside the castle that morning. Severus knew better than to order Drake to distance himself from Arista, especially now, with fighting going on. Therefore he almost always assigned them duties together, or with one of the other SR's, whose skill at combination magic was proving an invaluable asset.

Like that morning, when the three of them linked and erected an invisible barrier on the top of the wall, repelling four huge pieces of marble and granite flung at them. One thing the giants did not know how to do was to aim accurately. They could throw huge rocks quickly and over long distances, but they weren't the best marksmen, and half of their missiles missed the top of the wall, crashing instead into the ground just in front of it or striking the walls themselves. Chinks of stone were missing from some of the western wall, which had taken the worst of the pounding by giants and wyverns alike.

The Hogwarts defenders tried as best as they could to shore up the holes, but some imps and red caps managed to slip through. The sly critters were soon discovered by the hungry manticores however, and made a nice snack for them. It was the first time anyone had ever been grateful to a manticore for eating someone in the history of the school.

Five giants marched up with twenty feet of the ramparts, snarling curses in their harsh tongue, waving around gigantic clubs, swords, and axes. "What are they saying?" Neville wondered, looking up at Cho.

"How should I know, Neville? I don't speak giant," Cho said crossly.

"They're probably talking about how good we'd taste barbecued or something," Ginny said.

Cho made a face. "Ugh! Ginny, that's so disgusting!"

"Well, it's true. Some of those giants aren't satisfied with wild game, they prefer easier prey." Ginny informed them. "Man ala king. Boiled, roasted, baked in a pie."

"Ginny, please!" Cho cried. "You have such a sick sense of humor sometimes."

"Blame it on Fred and George," Ginny said, giving the other girl an apologetic grin.

"How can you make jokes at a time like this?" Neville groaned.

"Now's the best time, Longbottom. Better we die laughing than crying, right?"

"I'd rather we not die at all," Neville said with a shudder.

Suddenly, a bronze dot appeared in the sky overhead. Ginny squinted, lifting a hand to shade her eyes from the glare of the sun. "What's that?"

"Where?" Cho asked.

"Up there! In the sky!" Ginny pointed.

The dot suddenly resolved itself into a familiar shape with wings. Ginny gulped. "Oh God. It's a dragon! They've summoned up dragons."

"We're doomed!" Neville wailed, quivering in terror as the dragon swooped and dove, followed by several more.

"Stop that!" Cho ordered, smacking him on the back of the head. "We're not finished yet, Neville, now quit freaking out."

"I can't help it. Dragons! I wonder what kind they are?"

Cho squinted at the circle of bronze dragons and said, "I don't know what kind of dragon they are. I think it's a kind I've never seen before."

Then to their utter astonishment, the dragons, some of whom bore a rider on their backs, whirled away from the school and began attacking the giants and the wizards directing them.

"Huh?" Neville's eyes widened until it looked like they were going to fall out of his head.

"I don't believe it. They're attacking the giants and the Death Eaters," Ginny whooped.

The bronze streaks were now diving down and breathing huge gouts of flame on the catapults and the giants and anything else within range. Screams of terror and pain could be heard from the encampment on the other side of the lake and they could see tiny black cloaked figures scurrying here and there, trying to flee the unexpected attack.

Blue and red streaks flew from some of the dragon's backs, and the three wizards realized there were spellcasters atop the great beasts, to their astonishment.

"Ginny, there are wizards on those dragons!" Cho exclaimed. "But what dragon would ever permit a wizard to ride it?"

"A bronze dragon, Miss Chang," said Severus from behind them.

The three wizards jumped about a foot.

"Merlin, professor, you scared us!" Ginny gasped, grabbing at the top of the wall for support.

Professor Snape frowned. "Next time be more alert, Miss Weasley. I could have been an enemy."

"Yes, sir," she said softly, realizing that he was right, they should have posted a lookout. But Snape still moved silently, for all he was lame in that left leg. "We'll do better next time, sir. But I've never heard of a bronze dragon before. Where do they come from?"

"They're native to North America, the only sentient species in the world. They left here centuries ago because they were being hunted to extinction by the Dragonslayer Guild."

"So what are they doing here now, sir?" Neville asked cautiously.

"Returning a favor, Longbottom." He gazed out at the utter chaos that was now the dark encampment thanks to the lightning strike of the bronze dragons and smiled grimly. "That's giving them a taste of their own medicine, all right. Not even a giant is a match for a flight of bronzes."

"Look, sir, they're all running away!" Neville cheered.

"Running away with their tails between their legs, like whipped puppies," Cho added, smiling.

"For now, Miss Chang," Severus said, but there was a satisfied gleam in his dark eyes. "They'll be back again tonight. But we've walloped them pretty good this morning, thanks to my dragon allies."

The dragons were now pulling up and circling back towards the school.

"Let's go down to the courtyard and give them a proper welcome, shall we?" Severus gestured for them to follow him. Three more students wearing Slytherin colors came up onto the ramparts.

"Hathaway and company reporting for watch, sir," Hathaway said, and gave the Defense Master a salute.

Severus gave him a nod of approval. "Take your position, Mr. Hathaway."

The blond-haired boy stepped up onto the ramparts, wand out. He was accompanied by Flint and Pansy Parkinson, who spread out along the wall to cover the whole section. Hathaway turned to Pansy and ordered her to set a ward at their backs, and the girl did so.

Ginny scowled at herself, for she hated being shown up by Slytherins, but she said nothing as they went by, following their teacher down the stairs to the courtyard. At least she would get to see a bronze dragon before Parkinson did, so that was something. They were joined by Arista, Trish, and Drake, who had been relieved of their watch as well, and were eagerly awaiting the arrival of the bronzes.

"Did you see the way they took out those catapults, Dad?" Arista asked. "It was amazing."

"Burned them to ash in about two seconds flat," Drake said in approval, his gray eyes shining. "Wonder if Fireflash is with them?"

"He probably is. I don't think he would miss this," Severus said. "Or Sunstrike either."

"They've got names?" Neville stammered. "You're, uh, friends with them, sir?"

Snape whirled on him. "Longbottom, pay attention, for Godsake! Didn't you hear me say they're a sentient species? That means they're fully as intelligent as people, probably more than some people I could name," and he gave the red-face Neville a pointed glare. "They can talk and they have names just like we do and they can also do magic. And they, like me, don't tolerate disrespectful teenagers, so keep a civil tongue in your head when you address them."

"Yes, sir." Neville muttered, gulping sharply.

"Fireflash works with the Dark Hunters, Neville," Arista explained. "He was my mom's partner."

"And Sunstrike's on the Council of Dragons, she's a Hunter too," Drake put in. "We met them last summer."

"And I met Fireflash at Christmas," Trish said, recalling the beautiful dragon fondly.

"Wow! And here I thought I was lucky getting to meet Azalea Perkins of the Holyfield Harpies," said Cho, naming a professional Quidditch star. "Maybe next time I'll go to America on vacation."

If we survive this war, Severus thought, but did not say aloud. He waited patiently, his hands tucked in his sleeves, and in a few minutes a large bronze shape hovered above the courtyard.

The students gasped as Fireflash touched down neatly in the center of the courtyard, his great bronze body glittering in the early morning sun. Atop his back was a dragonsaddle, with Colin Flynn seated in it. The Dark Hunter was dressed in what Snape assumed was his official uniform, a set of black pants and a black shirt with the golden magehound crest on the pocket. A patch on the sleeve with a red border and two crossed swords in the center, denoting a combat master, was on his right sleeve. About his neck was a golden medallion with the emblem of a bronze dragon on it. About his waist was a black web belt with a pair of silvery cuffs and a slender rapier in a sheath along with some golden globes whose purpose Snape did not know.

He grinned when he caught sight of Severus and Arista, unbuckling his flight straps with the ease of long practice. "You can quit worrying, Sev, the cavalry's here," he called as he walked down the dragon's shoulder.

"The Seventh Dragons," Fireflash added, smirking wickedly.

"Thank you for taking care of our giant problem, Flash," Severus said, and bowed to him.

"Anytime, Potions Master."

"Actually, I'm the Defense Against the Dark Arts Master now," Severus informed them, accepting a friendly hug from Colin.

"Ha! So your Headmaster finally recognized your potential, huh?" Colin said, clapping the other man on the back. "Good for you, Sev. You deserve it."

"I wasn't expecting to see you here, Colin," said Snape.

"When Flash told us about Arista's request, I had to come. You know how I've been itching to test myself against these dark wizards of yours," the Hunter laughed. "Only thing is, Jenna made me promise not to get killed, or else she'd kick my ass."

"Can't have that, now can we, Flynn?" Severus chuckled.

"Hey, Arista, honey!" Colin smiled, catching sight of Arista. "How's my favorite apprentice?"

"Hi, Colin!" she said, hugging him. "I figured you wouldn't be able to miss this party. How're Jenna and Amelia?"

"Wonderful. Amy's walking now and she's talking too. I've got pictures of her in my pack that I'll show you later." He looked about at the other students. "Who are your friends?"

"Colin and Fireflash, these are my students," Snape said, and introduced them, one by one. All of them were greeted cordially by the dragon and the Hunter. Trish he introduced as his foster daughter as well as his student.

"I always said you needed another daughter, Sev." Colin chuckled. "Welcome to our extended family, Trish. In case Sev hasn't told you yet, he's my baby's godfather and I've come to think of him as an older brother, which sort of makes me your uncle. Are you confused yet?" Colin asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

Trish shook her head, smiling.

"No, but I am," Neville muttered.

"Just consider Hunter Flynn my annoying little brother, Longbottom." Snape said with a smirk.

"You forgot to add that I'm also the smarter and better looking brother."

"Make that my utterly arrogant, delusional, and very annoying little brother," Snape amended.

"Delusional? Me?"

"Definitely. I'll always be smarter, Colin."

"Maybe," the younger wizard argued.

"There is no maybe. It's a fact."

"Whatever you say, Sev," Colin agreed, then whispered to Trish and Arista behind his hand. "He's getting old, I'll humor him."

"I heard that, Flynn!" Severus growled, pretending to be angry. "You know one of the privileges of being an older brother is that I can kick your ass."

"That a threat or a promise, Sev?"

"It's a promise," the other returned. "So don't annoy me."

The two locked gazes and for one moment the students watching thought they meant to spring at each other.

Abruptly they lost their air of violence and grinned at each other, and Arista shook her head, for it had all been a bluff. Ginny rolled her eyes and mouthed to Arista behind their back, "Typical brothers!" and Arista snickered.

Severus turned back to Fireflash, who had been observing the byplay between the Hunter and the Defense Master with interest and amusement. "Flash, how many dragons are there besides you?"

"Of the Council, there are my parents, Sardonyx and Citrine, Sunstrike, and Tiger Eye. My sister Topaz is also here. We have representatives from all the dragon clans, Sev, for a total of twenty-four, a full flight. Oh, and in addition to Hunter Flynn, we also have Advocate Cheyenne Merrick and Colin's rookie partner, Flick Bowen."

"Got a new apprentice already, Colin?" Arista asked.

"Yeah, he's fresh out of the Academy, and they gave him to me because he was top of his class in combat magics. He could use a bit of discipline though, and some polishing before he's ready to go solo. This little adventure ought to do nicely for experience. He's a good kid, a little inclined to run off at the mouth sometimes, but I'm working on that little problem. He's an ace with martial arts, though, you'll see if he ever goes one on one with a necromancer."

"Can he take you, sir?"

"No, he's not quite in my class yet, Arista, but he's getting there. Someday he might even best me, but he's got a ways to go before then," Colin said. "But he's a good one to have in a fight, that's for sure."

Fireflash lifted his head. "Here he comes now, along with Topaz."

Topaz was a smaller dragon than her brother, and a darker bronze, her wings speckled with deep gold and crimson patterns. She had eyes the color of evergreens and a bubbly effervescent personality. "Well met, wizards!" she greeted. "That was fun, bowling for giants. We'll have to do some more tomorrow. I'm Topaz of the Brightwings clan, daughter of Sardonyx and Citrine. And this is my rider, Hunter Bowen." She indicated Flick with a toss of her head.

Flick slid down her shoulder, as graceful as a cat. He was dressed in a similar version of Colin's uniform, only without the patch, and in addition to the sword he also carried a pair of bo sticks. He moved lazily, like a relaxed panther, he was not tall, but he carried himself as if he were. He had short dark hair that stood up in spikes and piercing brown eyes. He was also quite handsome.

"Hunter Bowen, may I introduce Defense Master Severus Snape of Hogwarts," Colin said formally.

"How do you do sir?" Flick shook hands with Severus. "Pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." Severus returned the handshake. "Flick, is it? Your mother had unusual taste in names."

Flick chuckled. "Uh, that's not my real name. Flick's my callsign, at the Academy, we all had one to distinguish us during our training. My real name's Robert, but I prefer Flick, sir. There are plenty of Roberts in the world, but only one Flick."

"Flick it is," Severus nodded. "May I introduce my daughters, Arista and Trish, and my students?"

Another round of introductions was made, only this time Arista noted that Trish couldn't take her eyes off the young Mr. Bowen, who was around nineteen. _So that's the way the wind blows, eh, Trish? I hope he's a better man than Glendower, sister mine.  
_  
Sardonyx landed just outside the gates with Dragon's Advocate Cheyenne Merrick on his back, who greeted Severus, Arista, and Drake like long lost friends. They had met the new Advocate when they were hunting down the dragonslayers in Washington State, she had helped them collar the Dragonmaster and his allies, for they had killed her father and tried to kill her as well.

Severus exchanged pleasantries with Sardonyx, telling the Dragon Lord how grateful he was for their support and explaining that he was going inside to introduce Colin, Cheyenne, and Flick to the Headmistress and the rest of the staff. He promised to return and introduce Sardonyx to Minerva and Sardonyx said he would be delighted to meet the Headmistress.

"What happened to your leg, Severus?" Colin asked as he followed the Defense Master inside the castle, noting the way Severus favored his left leg.

"That's a long story, and not one I want to discuss right at the moment," Snape answered softly. "I'll tell you later. For now, I'd like you to meet Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, she's acting in place of Headmaster Dumbledore, since he's away on a mission, and the rest of my colleagues."

Colin acquiesced, sensing instinctively that whatever had happened to injure his friend still haunted him, and thus did not press. When Severus was ready to talk, he would do so, and the Hunter knew better than to pump the other wizard for details. He had also noted the white lock of hair at Snape's temple and figured that too was probably a result of another injury.

Once introductions with Minerva had been made, and she had expressed her heartfelt gratitude at the three Hunters for coming to their aid along with the dragons, Severus showed them to their rooms, which were on the second floor of the castle. None of the Hunters had brought much in the way of personal possessions, they tended to travel light on a mission. Cheyenne opted for a quick bath and a short nap before breakfast, Severus left her in Arista's capable hands and escorted Flick and Colin back to the hall to eat something and to brief them some more on the army they faced.

The two Hunters drew curious stares and whispers from the students in the dining hall as they went by, but Severus did not bother with any more introductions, for Minerva had told him she would make a general announcement during dinner, telling the students about their new allies. Snape knew the news of the bronzes' arrival would be the hot gossip of the day and by suppertime the whole school would have heard everything.

"We don't know yet if this is the bulk of his army, or just a portion of it," Snape said in a low voice to Colin as the Hunter ate breakfast. "Though I'm inclined to think it's just a portion of it, since Voldemort himself hasn't shown himself yet. The one commanding this force is his second in command, Lucius Malfoy," his lips twisted into a bitter sneer as he said Lucius' name. "I have an old score to settle with him," Snape stated darkly. "His son Draco is also at this school, currently under house arrest in my House Common room."

"As a precaution?" Colin asked.

"Yes and no. I suppose we could hold him hostage, but that's not the way we do things here. No, he's being restricted because we can't trust him. He refused to swear loyalty to the school and the Headmistress, in fact he became abusive and disrespectful towards her when asked to give his oath. The arrogant little puppy thinks his father's going to come in here and grind all of us beneath his boots. He even dared to insult me, said I was nothing but a useless cripple since I've got this," he gestured to his left leg.

Colin's eyes flashed. "I hope you put him in his place good and proper, Sev."

Severus smiled thinly. "Oh, I did. I slapped him to the ground for his nasty mouth. Not something I'm usually permitted to do, or that I would want to do, but he pushed me too far and he deserved it, the spoiled brat. Minerva didn't say a word either."

"Good. The kid sounds like he could use a good thrashing, in my opinion," Colin said angrily. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could spit. Did his father give you that?"

Snape shook his head. "No, that was done by Lucius' master, Lord Voldemort, otherwise known as Tom Riddle." He rubbed the leg gently, for it often ached in the mornings.

"Then you've seen this Voldemort character face to face?"

"Many times. You see, I was once a secret agent, Colin, spying on them for my Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who was head of the Order of the Phoenix, the resistance group dedicated to bringing down Voldemort once and for all. As a member of the Order, it was my duty to gather information and I was their top spy for over fifteen years. Until Voldemort discovered my treachery a little over a month ago, and decided to revenge himself upon me."

Colin listened quietly as Severus told him how he was tortured nearly to death, and only Arista's great Healing gift had saved him. "I always knew she was meant to do great things with that gift. And she has. Healing the Longbottoms, saving Fireflash and now you as well. She's almost a celebrity, I should think."

"Normally her expertise would be something to be proud of, and I am, but it also worries me. Her ability draws too much attention to her, the wrong sort of attention, if you take my meaning," Severus said. Colin nodded in understanding. "Before I was discovered, I was fending off some very pointed questions from Lucius about Arista and how strong her Healing talent actually was. I tried to downplay it as much as possible, but I think he became suspicious and that was what tipped off Voldemort that I wasn't all I appeared, for a true Death Eater would consider it a honor if a member of his family also joined the unholy cause, believe me. But I could never risk her that way, Colin, and so my masquerade was penetrated and the rest, as they say, was that."

"I wonder how old Voldy is taking it now that he realizes he hasn't killed you?" said Colin.

"He's probably taking his frustration out on some poor bugger, same as always. And plotting a way to finish what he started."

"He'll wait till hell freezes over then, Sev. You aren't dying on my watch, that much I can promise you. We Hunters protect our own."

"I can protect myself, Flynn," Severus said testily. "He hurt my leg, not my magic."

"Then I've got your back, Sev." Colin said easily.

Severus merely nodded, acknowledging Colin's offer silently. He would never say so, but the Hunter's words touched him profoundly, though he was unused to relying on others for assistance and would have been too proud to ask for any. A fact which Colin knew all too well, and therefore hadn't bothered with asking.

The Hunter removed a small photo holder from his pocket and held it out to Severus. "Here. Jenna sent this for you. This is Amy at her first birthday party."

In the photo, an adorable dark-haired baby with brilliant blue eyes laughed up at the camera. She was dressed in a sweet green and white dress with shiny black shoes and a bib that said I'm the #1 Boss Today. As Severus watched, the picture moved, and showed little Amy reaching for a cookie on the plate in front of her and cramming it into her mouth. The Defense Master chuckled. "She's got mischief incarnate written all over her, Colin. But who could resist that smile?"

"Not me. And she knows it too. Jenna says if I don't watch it, I'm going to become a pushover." Colin said ruefully.

"Not hardly, sir," Flick said from Colin's other side. "You never let me get away with anything."

"That's different," Severus replied. "You're his student, and a teacher is always hard on them. It's something else again when it comes to your children, especially your only daughter."

"Then you let Arista get away with murder, Sev?" Colin teased.

"No, at least I don't think I do._ She'll_ tell you I don't let her get away with anything, but that's not true. There are plenty of times I've let certain behavior slide, because I didn't want her to think I was some kind tyrant. You'll be the same with Amy."

"Oh, but it's okay if your student thinks you're a tyrant, sir?" Flick asked grumpily.

"Of course it is," Severus returned crisply. "If you're worried about what your teacher's going to do to you for breaking rules, you won't be tempted into trying something stupid and maybe killing yourself. If there's one thing I've learned through sixteen years of teaching, it's that students will always do the thing they aren't supposed to, the more suicidal the better. The only way to curb such impulses is to make the consequences of disobedience as unpleasant as possible."

"Wouldn't it be easier if you just told your student don't do this because you might get killed?" Flick argued.

"Did that work with _you_, Mr. Bowen, when your mother told you not to fly too high on your broomstick, you might fall off?" Severus asked pointedly.

"Uh . . .no," Flick admitted.

"Of course not. You thought, well it might happen, not it's going to happen and did it anyway, and probably ended up with a broken arm or whatever, am I right?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"My point exactly. Kids always think they can beat the odds, that it'll never happen to them. But if they know that causing an explosion in my classroom will earn them immediate detention, doing the nastiest chores I can devise and getting lectured at the same time, they'll think twice about following their impulses. It works, I haven't ever had a fatality or a serious injury in my classroom."

"Neither have I," Colin agreed. "But I can't be like that with my kid, well, at least not all the time. Not at this age."

"Just remember to set some consequences and then stick by what you say. All the time. That'll save you a lot of headaches later on," Severus advised. He smiled down at his goddaughter. "She looks like Jenna, but she's got your eyes, Colin."

"And my temperament, I'm afraid," the Hunter sighed. "She's into everything, and got a mind of her own."

"Sounds like my niece Marietta. Now _there's_ trouble, Flynn. She came to spend Christmas here with me at the school and I don't think it's recovered yet."

"Then your discipline didn't work on her?" Colin raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, it did. She never repeated the thing I punished her for twice. She just thought up something else. Marietta's like the ocean, you can't turn your back on her for a minute. She's a little minx. But she's a lovable scamp anyhow," Snape smiled reminiscently.

"You'll understand one day, Flick. When you've got an apprentice and a child of your own," Colin said. "It's the most wonderful and hair-raising experience of your life, right, Sev?"

"God, yes," the Potions Master said feelingly.

Flick looked from one to the other in puzzlement. "I don't get it. How can it be both?"

"It just is. You'll understand someday," Severus said, and tucked the photo into a pocket of his robes. Then he turned to discussing the kinds of creatures Voldemort had in his army. "Besides giants, there are mountain trolls, wyverns, imps, fell hounds and some lesser fae creatures. Sooner or later I expect them to summon up some revenants, but those we can handle easily."

Flick looked skeptical. "How? Revenants aren't easy to kill, even with blessed weapons."

"Because we have a ghostwalker among my students, Flick," answered Snape. "And she can command any spirit. She's one of my little surprises. Along with you and the dragons, that is."

Flick whistled. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you, Professor? With a ghostwalker, we can kick some serious butt."

"And the bronzes will have fun fighting the wyverns, since wyverns are their natural enemies," Colin added. "Plus, we can fly reconnaissance for you and patrol from the air, even at night. Nothing sees in the dark like dragon's eyes."

"You'll definitely give us an edge. Hopefully, we can keep this army at bay or drive it off before Voldemort realizes what we're about and brings the rest of his force here. I'm stalling for time, you see, for my Headmaster's mission must succeed if we're ever going to defeat Voldemort once and for all."

"He's got a secret weapon then?" Flick surmised.

"In a manner of speaking," Snape replied evasively.

Soon they were joined by Cheyenne and Arista and Trish. "Hope you didn't start debriefing without me, Colin," she said.

"No, Severus was just filling us in on all the nasty critters they've got," Colin said.

Cheyenne took a seat. "Such as?"

They quickly filled her in on what was discussed and she too agreed that most of the army wouldn't prove too much of a hazard for a dragon and rider, provided the dark wizards didn't have access to dragonbane.

Snape frowned. "Now that I don't know about, it's possible, of course, but dragonbane's rare here and it needs a master potion maker to prepare it properly, you can't just rub it on an arrow. For now, I'd say it was safe to assume they don't have any on hand. But be careful anyway."

"We will. A bronze out of his home territory is very wary indeed." She helped herself to some scrambled eggs, toast, and sausage. "What kinds of defenses do you have set up, Sev?"

They continued discussing the various defenses Snape had implemented around the grounds and inside the castle, all of which met with the Hunters' approval. Then they began discussing possible forays against the enemy, because with the dragons here, they could now bring the fight to Lucius and company, instead of waiting for them to attack.

Arista smiled to herself. Lucius Malfoy might not know it, but taking the castle had suddenly become a lot more dangerous and difficult.

**So how did you like this one?**

**Next: The dragons and their wizards engage Lucius's forces repeatedly. **


	17. Eye of the Storm

**Eye of the Storm**

**Note: This chapter is longer than usual, because I really wanted to capture the feel of the battle and the participants both in it and out of it, those fighting and those left behind. And also the cost one pays to be a soldier. My sister, who has fought in Iraq, she is now a Colonel in the US Air Force, helped me a great deal with what and how one feels and reacts during and after battle. Snape's advice to Drake is taken from her own and other officer's words to young privates after skirmishes in Baghdad. Thank you, all of our troops who serve there, I salute you!**

That night the wyverns returned, and were met by Fireflash, Sunstrike, Sardonyx and half of the flight of dragons. They used their sun-absorbing frills to light up the sky as bright as day, taking away the wyverns' advantage as night fliers and rendering most of the beasts blind and ineffective as fighters. Severus was up on the western rampart of the castle along with Colin and Neville and Brittany, standing by to repel any boulders or rocks that came their way, but the dragons made sure no wyvern broke through their flight pattern.

It was an awe-inspiring sight, the fire and claws of the mighty bronze dragon against the lightning-quick stinger and fangs of the wyvern. Rarely had any wizard in Britain ever seen one wyvern fight an aerial battle, much less ten or twenty matched against twelve bronzes. The wyvern was good in close combat, where it could bring that nasty venom-filled stinger on its tail to bear, but the bronze could outfly a wyvern any day of the week and their legendary maneuverability soon took a toll on the wyverns.

Then too, bronzes would work as a team, and these did, while most wyverns were loners and fought alone, unless they happened to be a mated pair. The wyverns had formed an uneasy alliance with Voldemort, based mainly on the threat by him that if they didn't join him, he would destroy their homes and nests, killing their young. Voldemort had also assured them there would be easy prey once they took Hogwarts, and the only foes they had to face would be mere students and their teachers, none of whom had ever fought a wyvern before.

The scaled sneaking lizards had gotten the shock of their lives when they had returned to bombard the castle the second night and discovered a flight of dragons waiting for them—and not just any dragons, but their ancient bronze enemies, that had been driven away from Britain centuries ago. Taken by surprise, the wyverns lost five of their number in the initial attack made by Fireflash and the rest of them.

Once Lucius Malfoy realized that the wyverns were having difficulties, he sent a squad of Death Eaters mounted on nightmares to help them, but nightmares were even less maneuverable in the air than wyverns and the dark wizards discovered this to their dismay.

Sunstrike played tag with the six of them all across the sky, dodging their spells with contemptuous ease, always staying just out of range, flicking her blue plumed tail at MacNair mockingly. "Here, scaredycats! Come and get me!" she taunted, circling above and around them like a bronze flash. "What's the matter boys, can't take the heat?" she snickered, and blew a streak of dragonfire at one of them, forcing him to pull up sharply to avoid being barbecued. "Then stay out of the kitchen! And Hogwarts too!"

MacNair shrieked a freezing jinx at her, trying to freeze her wings so she couldn't fly, but Sunstrike brought her wings together and dove, and the jinx missed her. Then she whipped herself about in midair and came up from behind to nail MacNair and another Death Eater with her fire.

"You should have listened to me, boys," she said, her eyes glittering. "Give my regards to the devil." Then she turned to confront a wyvern coming up on her left flank. "Hello, slitherwyrm! Want to play wyvern ball? I do!"

She climbed up into the air, preparing to dive upon the ungainly serpent-like creature, which was a bronze's favorite mode of attack.

The other four Death Eaters had been scattered by her burst of fire, but now two of them regrouped and shot Hoarfrost spears at her. One struck her, but her magic was enough to blunt the full force of the spell and so it did very little damage, only making a few of her scales freeze and crack.

"Not nice, boys!" scolded Topaz, coming up behind the two Death Eaters like a springing panther. "Didn't your mama ever teach you to play nice with girls?"

The Death Eaters shrieked as Topaz slammed them with a gust of superheated air, knocking them and their mounts flying. Topaz watched in satisfaction as they fell from fifty feet up. "Oh, well. Now you learn the hard way," she said, then arrowed off after the remaining two wizards, who were trying to flee like the cowards they were.

They made it within twenty feet of the encampment before Topaz caught them.

Meanwhile, Fireflash slashed open a wyvern with a neat backhanded swipe of one taloned forefoot, sending the doomed green beast into a downward spiral from which it could never recover. He was assisted by his sire, the Dragon Lord Sardonyx, who breathed once and the wyvern facing him was ash upon the wind.

"Not bad for an old timer, Father!" his son remarked, his azure eyes sparkling.

"I improve with age, you impudent snip!" his father snorted, pretending to be irritated by his son's comment. "I can still outfly you, Flash!"

"Care to test that theory?" Fireflash queried. "I got two bogeys at three o'clock," he indicated two wyverns homing in on them with a toss of his head.

Sardonyx bared his teeth in a draconic grin. "You're on, flyboy. Let's see what you've got!" then the elder bronze increased his speed to something like Mach three and streaked toward the wyverns.

"Sneaky, old man!" hissed Fireflash, and soared off in hot pursuit.

The wyverns never knew what hit them. One minute they were flying towards the hovering bronzes, and the next they were being attacked by streaks of light with fangs and claws. Soon the serpentine lizards were destroyed, utterly overwhelmed by the super speed of their two dragon opponents.

"What do you think now, Flash?" Sardonyx asked, for he had gotten to his quarry a shade quicker than his son.

"I think I deserve a rematch, Father." Fireflash objected.

"Pick your target, son." His father chuckled. "There's no shortage of winged rats tonight."

The two soared off, seeking another enemy to test their flying skills and teeth upon.

While Fireflash kept the wyverns busy, his mother Citrine and Tiger Eye made several strafing runs at the Death Eater encampment, setting a number of tents on fire and panicking the necromancers with their dragon auras.

"Three dark wizards, three dark wizards, see how they run, see how they run! Did you ever see such a sight in your life?" Tiger Eye chanted gleefully, as she shot fire at the fleeing sorcerers' backsides.

"Stop that!" Citrine scolded, but she was grinning as she said it, unable to help herself. She aimed a burst of superheated air at a red tent and watched as it exploded. The smell of roasted pork and burnt bread filled the air. "Oh dear! I fear I've burnt their breakfast," she said with a wicked little grin.

The necromancers shook their fists at the two bronze females, but were unable to retaliate quick enough to prevent them from doing further damage.

Lucius Malfoy emerged from his mansion-sized tent at a dead run, cursing a blue streak. "Where the bloody hell did these dragons come from?" he screamed, glaring at Pettigrew.

Pettigrew cringed on the ground, whimpering. "I don't know, Master Malfoy! They just appeared out of nowhere. Maybe it's a sign. The Judgement of God or something!"

"Don't give me that crap!" roared Lucius, kicking the prostrate Pettigrew in the rump out of sheer frustration. "There is no Judgement of God, that's a lie to get sheep like you to go to church and give away half your money to charity. This is that miserable Snape's doing. Somehow the bastard managed to make a deal with these dragons. I wonder what the bugger promised them? His other leg? His daughter? Half the virgin students in Hogwarts?" he shook a fist at the dragons. "Damn you, Severus Snape! You'll pay for your defiance, I'll see to it myself. No one betrays me and gets away with it. This time I'll make sure you're dead, beyond all hope of resurrection."

He kicked Pettigrew one more time, making him cry out, then fired several bolts of lightning from his wand at the dragons, who were too far away to hit, then he stormed back inside his tent, furious at this new turn of events. This was supposed to be an easy victory, he'd promised his Dark Lord the gates of Hogwarts would be open and waiting when Voldemort returned from cleansing the Ministry of all the Mudbloods and blood traitors and setting up his people in their place. Now however . . .

Narcissa looked up from the bed as he entered, murmuring sleepily, "Problems, dearest?"

"Go back to sleep!" Lucius snapped. "God damn bloody Snape to hell! When I see him I'm going to tear him apart slowly. He's interfered with my plans for the last time."

Narcissa yawned. "That's nice, dear. Now come back to bed, I'm cold."

Lucius snarled another string of nasty comments before tugging off his boots and rejoining his wife. Tomorrow would be soon enough to figure out losses and regroup.

* * * * * *  
There was much rejoicing in the castle the next morning over the dragons routing the wyverns, and for the first time in over a week the walls did not shake or the air echo to the awful sounds of rocks being thrown at the castle. It was a great relief not to hear the dreadful pounding though many doubted it would last. The Dark Mark still flew over the Death Eater camp after all.

Topaz noted the frozen Black Lake, and queried Arista about it, who told her that it had been frozen by the Death Eaters so they could cross the lake without fighting against the merpeople.

"Would you like it unfrozen, Healer Snape?" Topaz asked.

"Oh, yes, that would be great. Can you undo the spell?"

"Does a bronze dragon love salmon? Of course I can!" Then she breathed a soft cone of warm air over the water, making it steam slightly and hiss. Gradually, cracks appeared in the surface of the ice and soon, after repeated breaths of superheated air, the sheet of ice across the lake melted away.

"Thanks, Topaz," Arista grinned. "Now Amlioranee and her people can come up to the surface again." She struck the water with her palm, it was still cold from the melted ice, and called the Water Mistress from the depths.

The mermaid came up with a splash, her pale hair swirling through the dark waters of the lake like seafoam. "You called for my assistance, Arista Snape?"

"Um, actually I wanted to tell you that we managed to unfreeze the lake, but I guess you already know that by now."

"Indeed," the Water Mistress smiled, swishing her tail back and forth in delight. "You have our thanks, little Healer." Then she saw Topaz and her sea-green eyes widened. "Can this be? Have I lived so long as to see a bronze dragon once more upon my shore?"

"You know about bronzes?" asked Topaz curiously, lowering her head so she could speak more softly to the mermaid.

"Oh, yes, though I was but a sprat when the last bronze left Britain, never to return. A sad day, that. How come you here, Sister of Air?"

"I come in repayment of a debt owed to the Healer and her father, Potions Master Snape," Topaz answered. "They did us a great service not so long ago and we named them Dragonfriends forever and when they called upon us for aid, we answered. But once the threat to them is ended, we shall leave. We dare not stay here, Mistress of Waters."

"You could if you wanted, Topaz," Arista said, thinking sadly of how much she would miss the dragons. "The Dragonslayer Guild is long gone."

"The Guild may be gone, but those who supported it are not, child. No, here the dragon is not respected as we are back home in America. Here the old prejudices and attitudes towards us prevail and we have sworn to never put up with such again. You know I speak the truth, Healer Snape."

Arista had to agree with her, for it was true that dragons in Britain were regarded as dangerous beasts and there was no ban on using dragon blood or parts in potions or for magical articles of clothing the way there was in America. And even though the dragon parts used were not bronze dragons, but other lesser species of dragons, it did not matter to the bronzes. The use of any kind of dragon part was considered heinous and slaying a dragon for such a purpose was considered murder by the Dragon Council. No, a peaceful co-existence between wizards and dragons in Britain was not possible at this time, nor would it ever be, unless attitudes and laws underwent a major change.

"I suppose not," she sighed. "I wish people weren't so . . .arrogant and so stupid."

"Don't we all?" Amlioranee laughed wryly. "That is the curse of the race of man, the arrogance that mankind is first and best and shall have dominion over the earth and all upon it. Does not your very religion espouse those ideas, Arista Snape?"

"Yeah, it does say that in Genesis, the first book of the Bible," Arista conceded. "But that doesn't mean people have to take what's written there literally. I mean, that stuff was written down hundreds of years after Jesus Christ died, so who can say how accurate it is? Human memory is fallible, and people remember what they choose to, not what's the truth."

Both dragon and the mermaid nodded in agreement. "Truth is not something that mankind prizes, I'm afraid." Topaz said. "Those wizards out there are prime examples of that," she swung her head out towards the dark army encampment. "They delude themselves into thinking they are fit to rule over all and that they have the right to play Creator." She huffed softly, and tendrils of smoke drifted from her nostrils. "They refuse to listen to reason, so now they learn the error of their ways the hard way, with fire and blood and death." The bronze dragon heaved a massive sigh, making the lake ripple. "I did not enjoy what I had to do last night, but I knew it was a matter of kill or be killed. Still . . .the taking of lives weighs heavily on my conscience. Why must men be such fools?"

Arista patted the bronze's shoulder comfortingly, sending her feelings of reassurance and serenity, trying to make her feel better, though she knew that nothing could truly take the sting out of the death Topaz had been forced to deal. Like any good soldier, the dragon had to reconcile her actions in her own way and time.

"I think, Sister, because they live such brief lives, they have no time to grow out of that stage," remarked Amlioranee. Then she swung her tail sideways, slapping the water playfully. "Although there are exceptions, like young Arista here and some others. They make me hope for a better future, one in which man and mermaid and dragon may meet on common ground for peace."

"I think that's a wonderful dream for the future," Arista said.

"Yes, but it may remain just that—a dream, unless something is done about Tom Riddle." The Water Mistress frowned. "My people shall aid you as best we may. I have dominion over all creatures of the water, including Decius the giant squid. I shall tell him to not allow any save denizens of Hogwarts to pass the lake's border. That should slow them down if they attempt to row across."

"And I and mine shall keep watch above, Water Mistress, so that they can't freeze your lake again," promised Topaz.

"Many thanks, Sister of Air." Amlioranee gave the dragon a short bow.

Topaz inclined her head in return. "My mother named me Topaz, Mistress of the Waters. I would be honored if you would use it."

"As you wish, Topaz. My mother called me Amlioranee, which means Flower of the Sea in our language." The mermaid returned the courtesy. "And now, I must bid you both farewell, my friends. I have duties below. May the Sea sing you to sleep and keep you safe in Her embrace."

"And may the wind be fair at your back and always bear you up to your destination," Topaz replied with the traditional farewell of bronzes. "Goodbye, Amlioranee."

The mermaid waved once to Arista before diving back beneath the water of the lake.

"You have some unusual friends, Arista," Topaz said.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that." Arista smiled. "But that's what happens when you go around saving people's lives." She explained how she had saved the mermaid two years ago.

"You are a true Healer, Arista. And I am honored to be your friend," the dragon said gravely.

Arista blushed, for the regard of a bronze dragon was not given lightly. "Thanks, Topaz. I'm honored to be your friend too."

The dragon preened slightly, for she, like her brother, was not immune to a bit of admiration. She grinned toothily. "I too must bid you farewell for a time, my friend. For I need to hunt, all that fighting has worked up an appetite and I need some fresh fish and sea kelp, at the very least."

"I'm kind of hungry too," Arista said, only realizing then that it was nearing lunchtime.

"See you later then!" Topaz said, then she launched herself up into the air in one magnificent leap, winking out from sight a moment later.

Arista turned to go back inside, ready to report to her father that the Black lake was unfrozen and that Amlioranee and her people were back on guard duty on the lakeside. And after that, I'm going to get something to eat, because I'm starving.

* * * * * *  
The staff and the majority of the students regarded the bronze dragons as a Godsend, and viewed them with a mixture of awe, respect, and not a little fear. Mel pronounced them as the coolest allies you could ask for and Kit said that he wished he could become a dragon for just one day, so he could fly like one. Arista considered lending him her dragonscale pendant, the one which contained the Dragonshape spell, but then thought better of it when she remembered Fireflash saying that such magic was only to be used by members of the Society of Bronze—meaning only those wizards that had sworn an oath of loyalty to bronze dragons. Dragon magic was not for everyone.

There were also some students who thought the bronze dragons might prove too dangerous and should be watched closely. And then there were some, like Draco Malfoy, who thought that the only good dragon was a dead dragon. Drake overheard him expressing that sentiment one afternoon, about three days after the bronzes' arrival.

"It's too bad they weren't exterminated a long time ago, like black unicorns and butterfly fairies," the blond boy was saying to Crabbe, his partner in house arrest. "That bronze Fireflash's head would look lovely as a decoration in my front hall."

"Shut your filthy mouth, Malfoy!" Drake snarled, lunging forward and grabbing the other boy by the collar and practically slamming him up against the wall.

Malfoy's eyes bugged out and he gasped, "Put me down, Lockwood, you bloody lunatic!"

"Why? You look pretty good hanging here, Malfoy," Drake growled, for he had lifted the slender boy off his feet and Malfoy was dangling a good foot in the air. "Maybe we ought to use you as a decoration instead?"

Draco struggled, but he was no match for Drake, who had put on muscle over the summer working out with the pegasus mare and the other animal patients at his father's clinic, feeding them and caring for them. "Crabbe!" he called. "Help!"

Crabbe started to get to his feet, but froze when Drake glared at him and said softly, "Remember the last time you tried to hex me, Crabbe? You were in the Hospital Wing for a week waiting for your pig snout to transform back. This time I might send you there for longer, especially if you make me mad."

Crabbe shrank away, for Drake was no longer the boy he had once bullied and tormented unmercifully a few years ago.

"Crabbe, for Godsake! Do something."

Crabbe did. He ran away, leaving Malfoy at Drake's mercy.

"Some friend you've got there, Malfoy. Just goes to show you, you get what you give," Drake said coldly. "Fireflash is a better friend than you'll ever have, Malfoy, and if I ever hear you talking like that about him again, I'll make you repeat every word you said to him and see what he thinks of your ideas. I don't think he'll be very amused. Got me?"

"Yes! Now let me down, please!" Draco went pale at Drake's threat, for he was secretly terrified of the dragon.

Drake released him and Malfoy slumped against the wall, glaring at the other boy with undisguised hatred. "You're going to regret treating me like this, Lockwood. When my father comes here, you and all your reject friends will be begging for mercy."

"Keep dreaming, Malfoy!" Drake sneered. "If your father dares to show his smarmy face around here, Snape will kick it right back to hell where it belongs."

"You think so?" Draco cried, getting very red in the face. "That cripple's no match for my father! Wait and see, he'll mop up the floor with pathetic Severus Snape, the ruddy traitor!"

"You're the one who's pathetic, Malfoy. You and everyone like you, who believe in the promises made by a madman. I ought to feel sorry for you, but you know what? I don't. You're so stupid, it's funny. You all think Voldemort's going to share his power and wealth with you. Don't you know that tyrants share nothing, except maybe death, with anyone?" Drake shook his head in mock disappointment. "As for Professor Snape, he certainly had no trouble dealing with you, did he now, Malfoy? He's got a pretty good backhand for an old cripple, wouldn't you say?"

Malfoy flushed a deep red and opened his mouth to scream something, but Drake was already across the room and out of the portrait hole.

"Just you wait . . ." Malfoy gasped, coming to his feet. "When my father takes this place, then you'll see! I'll make all of you pay . . ." he stalked over to the archway leading to the boys dormitories and shouted, "Crabbe, you coward! Where are you? Hiding under the bed like a big baby? You can come out now, Big Bad Lockwood is gone, you gutless lump! The things I put up with . . ."

Yes, many things would change once Lucius Malfoy took over the school, his son thought. But one thing that wouldn't was his ability to boss around Crabbe and Goyle, who were too stupid to think for themselves and therefore needed Malfoy to do their thinking for them. Just like their fathers needed Lucius, as a matter of fact.

Crabbe appeared in the archway before Malfoy, a hangdog expression on his face. Malfoy lost no time in abusing him, for he had no fear Crabbe would ever retaliate, he was too scared of Malfoy, and was therefore a safe target for Draco's temper.

• * * * * *  
The next day, Lucius counterattacked, getting together a company of giants, trolls, and dark fae mounted on fell hounds to try and storm the front gates of the school. Colin, Flick, Cheyenne, and several other students volunteered to go out and deal with them. One of them was Arista, who suggested she use Dragonshape as she had done two years ago when she had faced the insane giant. Drake also wanted in on the action, and agreed to watch Arista's back, like any good partner.

Severus agreed, reluctantly, after extracting a promise from them that they would obey Colin's directions implicitly. Then Arista transformed into a bronze dragon, Drake summoned a dragonsaddle and rode to battle upon her, rather like a knight of old, as he had transfigured his misericord into a six foot silver-tipped lance.

Severus would have liked to go with them, he owed Lucius for more than a few of his injuries back when he'd been Voldemort's prisoner. But he knew better than to leave the school without its Defense Master, and so he stayed behind.

Colin was mounted upon Fireflash, Flick upon Sunstrike, and Cheyenne on Sardonyx, for the Dragon Lord reserved the right to partner the Advocate. Citrine and Topaz elected to stay behind to guard the school along with two other bronzes, Sparkheart and Blaze.

The rest of the flight fell in behind Sardonyx, who was point, and Fireflash, who was the right wing leader. The assembled flight was a sight to behold, and those watching never forgot it, the sun glinting off myriad shades of bronze scales and swirling in colorful patterns on outstretched wings.

"Never in all my years did I ever expect to see such a thing, Severus," murmured Minerva in awe, squinting sharply against the rising sun. "It's too bad Albus isn't here to see it, he would be so impressed."

"Yes, he'll be sorry he missed this," Severus said. "A flight of bronzes hasn't been seen here in over five centuries, I think."

"And you were privileged to ride upon one," McGonagall said, with a trace of envy in her tone.

Snape glanced at her. "Would you like to ride on Fireflash? It's perfectly safe, I assure you."

"I, well . . ." Minerva deliberated. "Yes, if it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"I'll ask him after all of this is over with." Snape promised, then frowned in consternation, looking up at the sky where Arista was hovering in formation next to Fireflash.

Minerva caught the uneasy look and patted his arm soothingly. "She'll be all right, Severus."

"She'd better be. I know Colin and Flash will look after them, but still . . ."

"You worry and you will until they're safe back here," Minerva said knowingly. "So will I."

The two master wizards watched until the dragons flew too high to be seen anymore, then they went back inside the school to read the latest reports on the state of the country and rearrange students' schedules and deal with any problems that had arisen in the meantime.

* * * * * *  
"You stay on my left wing, Arista," Fireflash ordered as they rose into the dawn sky. "We'll be flying in formation for a bit, then we'll separate to seek out our own targets. But you and Drake stay with us, there will be enough targets for us to work together as a team."

"You can say that again," Arista said, gazing down at the force of a hundred giants and seventy wyverns and other dark fae arrayed against them. "Wyverns, trolls, and giants, oh my!"

Colin chuckled. "You got that right, kid. And the Wicked Wizard of the West too!" he pointed at the flaxen-haired figure of Lucius Malfoy, flying on a broom and giving instructions to a tall wizard in a night-blue robe wearing a Death Eater mask.

"Is Lucius going to fight?" Drake wondered, narrowing his eyes at the elder Malfoy. He had used the dragonscale pendant to give himself dragonsight again, so he would be more effective in battle.

"I doubt it. He doesn't have the stomach to go up against the likes of us," Arista said disparagingly. "He prefers his victims to be helpless and able to be tortured, the rotten cowardly dog!" She knew from the shared vision with Harry that Voldemort had not been alone in "questioning" Professor Snape, he'd been assisted by Lucius Malfoy for some of the time.

"He'll get his, never fear," Colin said. "They all will, eventually."

"Indeed. No dark wizard hurts a Dragonfriend and gets off," Fireflash hissed, his eyes blazing. "His days are numbered."

"Ready for strike!" Sardonyx boomed suddenly and Fireflash and Arista tensed, flexing their wings in preparation for a dive.

"Hold on, Drake!" Arista called back to her partner, who was gripping his silver lance so hard it left marks in his palm.

"Bronzes, attack!" Sardonyx ordered, and the dragons broke their formation and dove down towards the army of darkness, talons extended and jaws open wide to flame.

Arista fell like a meteor towards the earth, so fast that Drake barely had time to breathe before she was pulling up and striking at a giant with a large studded club. Her dragon talons scored heavily on the giant's shoulders, ripping great slashes in them.

Drake brought his lance to bear and thrust it hard at the giant's midsection. The enchanted silver tip pierced the monster easily and the giant crumpled slowly to the ground.

"Nice one, you two!" Fireflash praised, then finished off the mortally wounded giant with a burst of dragonfire.

Colin pointed a finger, and a jet of flame shot out of his finger and exploded into a group of dark fae heading their way. The night hags died barely knowing what hit them.

Drake gave Colin a thumbs-up sign, then Arista was climbing back into the air, seeking out a new troll or wyvern to slay. Together, Arista and Drake fought a total of four wyverns, six giants, and at least a dozen trolls and other creatures of the night. Most of them Arista defeated using precise shots of dragonfire and occasionally her talons. Her favorite method of attack was to dive on an enemy, catching him with her talons and Drake's lance at the same time.

They performed that little trick on many trolls and giants, who were too dumb to recognize strategy when they saw it. Fireflash and Colin shadowed them, making certain they didn't take on anything they couldn't handle.

Soon an hour and a half had gone by and Arista was beginning to feel a little lightheaded. Recognizing that as the first sign that the Dragonshape was wearing off. She informed Fireflash that she had to return to the school, and he merely nodded. "Go on, we'll deal with the rest of these mangy curs, Arista," said Colin. "You two did real good out here. Now get, before that Dragonshape wears off and leaves you walking on air at five thousand feet up."

"Yes, sir," Arista said, then turned and flew back towards the castle.

She released the spell as soon as she had touched down in the courtyard and Drake had dismounted. "You all right, Drake?" she asked, hugging him tightly.

"Fine. Just a little tired, is all. You?"

"Mmm . . .the Dragonshape always leaves me feeling like a basket of rocks just hit me in the head, but otherwise I'm okay. We'd better go find my dad and let him know we survived our first battle before he drives himself insane with worry."

But no sooner had they taken the first steps into the entrance hall then they were greeted by several students all of them wanting to know what it had been like fighting with the bronzes.

"Were you scared?"

"Did you kill a lot of giants?"

"Does it hurt to breathe fire?"

"How fast can bronzes really fly?"

"Is it true that the dragons nailed Lucius Malfoy?"

Arista winced, for the press of so many people was making her head throb, and she had to increase the strength of her shields to block out everyone else's feelings. Her legs felt like rubber and she was grateful for Drake's lean arm about her, otherwise she might have fallen flat on her face.

Drake drew in a deep breath. "Everybody SHUT UP!"

The students drew back, and the talking ceased abruptly.

"There, that's better. Look, we'll answer all of your questions later, okay? Right now we have to report back to Professors McGonagall and Snape and then we need to sleep. Any questions you have are gonna have to wait till later."

Disappointed groans came from several students, but they all stepped back and let them pass, continuing on to the gargoyle statue that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"Highland heather," Arista whispered, and the gargoyle swung inward, allowing them passage to the Headmaster's inner sanctum.

Both Minerva and Severus greeted the returned young wizards with profound relief and after they had made their report, told them to go bathe and rest, they would send up trays to their rooms.

The two obeyed, only too happy to follow those instructions and relieved as well that they came through their first skirmish unscathed.

* * * * * *  
Every day thereafter, Arista and Drake flew out on patrol with Fireflash, Sardonyx, and the rest of the dragons. Most of the time they fought wyverns and other magical creatures, whatever Lucius saw fit to throw at them. The elder Malfoy was growing increasingly frustrated with his lack of progress at advancing on Hogwarts.

Thus far, Snape's defenses were holding. The two times Lucius had sent teams in of dark fae and kelpies and boggarts, they'd been stopped by Hagrid's manticores, one of the ever-watchful bronzes, or Decius the giant squid, in the case of the kelpies who had tried to infiltrate the castle by swimming the lake.

The dark army had lost over half its flight of wyverns to the bronze strike force, and a good number of trolls and giants as well. The giant king was beginning to mutter about leaving, seeing as how he wasn't getting to break and tear and smash too many wizards the way Voldemort had promised him. Lucius flew into a rage after hearing that and instructed Avery and Pettigrew to gather half the force of Death Eaters and double the usual amount of fell hounds and night hags, redcaps and so forth and mount a concentrated assault on the castle.

"We'll break through their damn defenses or die trying," he spat. "I gave my word to the Dark Lord that I'd have this castle taken before he returned and I will, damn it!"

"Lucius," Narcissa called, standing at her husband's elbow as he glared round at his unholy allies.

"What is it?"

"Perhaps a direct assault is not the only way. Perhaps we need to be a bit more subtler."

"Go on. What do you mea by that?"

"If we could get someone on the inside to open the gates . . .?"

"Yes, but Draco's still under house arrest, according to his last letter," Lucius ground his teeth.

"Tell him to apologize to Snape," Narcissa improvised swiftly.

"Apologize to that—that skulking traitor?" Lucius sputtered. "The only thing that rotten slinking git deserves is a slow and painful death, not a bloody apology!"

"He doesn't have to mean it, Lucius!" cried Narcissa exasperatedly. "Men! You can't see the forest for the trees sometimes. All Draco has to do is convince Snape of his sincerity, flatter the miserable cripple a bit, tell him he's sorry and promise to obey him, whatever it takes for Draco to get off house arrest so he can open the way into the school."

Lucius was shaking his head. "I don't think it will work, Cissy. Snape's not dumb, more's the pity. He can tell if Draco's lying to him, he's got nearly the same talent as our master in sensing untruths."

"Well, then, Draco will have to mean what he says. At least for the time being. Use the mirror, Lucius, I know you've contacted him with it before," Narcissa urged. "He's no good to us if he's being watched continually and locked up."

"Surely you don't think Snape's going to let him wander about the school without being watched, Cissy?"

Narcissa scowled at her husband. "Snape can't watch him all the time. Tell Draco to use his head for once and figure out a way to open one of the secret passages into the school, there are so many of them, I'm certain Snape doesn't know all of them."

Lucius considered. "Very well. I will tell Draco to do as you've suggested. But you better pray it works, my dear, or else Draco isn't going to be the only one in hot water, Narcissa."

She eyed him coldly. "Are you threatening me, Lucius dear?"

"Not me," the other laughed sharply. "I was referring to the Dark Lord, my sweet. You know how he detests failures."

Narcissa went pale. Then she smiled sweetly. "Then, Lucius darling, we mustn't fail him, now must we?"

Her husband repressed a shudder, for he'd seen similar expressions on sharks and cobras before they struck. Narcissa was not at all as helpless as she seemed. Underneath that sweet face beat a heart as cold and cruel as his own. Narcissa loved power and prestige and pretty things, which was why she'd agreed to marry him. The only thing she loved more was her son, and even that was dependant on how well Draco fulfilled this last task. Draco was her golden boy, he could do no wrong—except failing this one simple thing.

And for those that failed her, Narcissa could be very unpleasant indeed, as Lucius knew quite well.

Lucius would make certain Draco understood the consequences of failure. His son was not stupid, he would not let his family down, or their dark master. He was a Malfoy, after all, and he had a reputation to maintain.

But he would send Avery and the rest of them anyway, because nothing was ever certain in war.

* * * * * *  
Drake and Arista returned from that afternoon's patrol utterly exhausted in both body and spirit. That afternoon had seen the worst fighting yet, requiring the most intense concentration and the uses of several offensive spells Drake had hoped to never have to cast. Worse still, he and Arista had been fighting Death Eaters this time, not just their monster allies.

Neither of them had trouble in roasting a giant or a wyvern, but a dark wizard . . . that was a different thing entirely. Fireflash and Colin did their best to direct the neophyte pair away from the necromancers, but they couldn't fight everywhere at once, and the Death Eaters weren't shy about targeting the Hunter combat master or his dragon.

Arista caught one of them trying to cast the Killing Curse while Colin's back was turned, hexing another enemy, and breathed at him without stopping to think.

It was only after the wizard's scream echoed in her ears that she realized what she had done, but it was too late for regrets.

And Fireflash saw and roared in approval, ordering her to attack another Death Eater on his right flank, and she obeyed. She could feel a part of herself shrivel in horror, but she had no time to dwell on it, there were too many opponents trying to kill her or Drake.

Drake cast Ricochet repeatedly, and then Fireball and Ice Strike, mostly aiming at the dark fae, but his spells did take out more than his share of dark wizards as well. He used his silver lance to slay several nightmares, a few of who had dark riders upon them, and these too died when their steeds fell. The last glimpse he had of the doomed wizards were their eyes, wide-eyed with terror as they tumbled down towards the earth.

One Death Eater, wearing a large horned mask, flew alongside them and started to shout the word to the Mummy Curse, pointing at Arista. Drake had seen that awful curse in action last summer, when it had killed Magdalena the Seer who had helped them escape the prison of the dragonslayers. It literally turned one into a dried up husk.

Furious that the sorcerer would dare harm his beloved that way, Drake swiveled his lance about and impaled the wizard on it in mid-syllable. The Death Eater gasped, his voice dying to a wet gurgle and then he slumped over his broom.

Drake jerked the tip of his lance free, gulping sharply, but he refused to get sick here, in the middle of a battle. _Oh God, I just killed another person. He was going to kill Arista, I had to. But still . . ._He saw the body of the unknown Death Eater tumbled off his broom and vanish from sight, dead before he hit the ground. The lance trembled for one moment in his grip.

"You okay there, kid?" Fireflash called, gliding nearer the pair.

Drake nodded.

Colin took one look at the kid's slightly green expression and shook his head knowingly. _Baptism of fire, I'm afraid. You took him out, Lockwood, just like you were supposed to, but the first one's always the worst._ He made a mental note to speak to the young wizard after they had gone back home, he'd counseled many a Hunter after their first kill.

"Good job, you two," he called, reasoning a bit of praise was necessary. "Now watch your six, and follow my lead."

He led them back across the sky, to engage yet another group of wyverns.

The battle raged fast and furious for another ten minutes, until suddenly the remaining giants and wyverns retreated, leaving the skies to the bronzes.

They had suffered few casualties, a few torn wing membranes, a couple of cuts and abrasions, strained muscles, and one young bronze hadn't moved quick enough to dodge a wyvern's stinger and needed a dose of anti-venom, but other than that there were no fatalities. Sheer speed and the bronzes' high magic resistance had cut down on many would-be casualties.

After reporting back in to Sardonyx, Arista flew back to the castle, victorious but with death weighing on her conscience, and Drake's as well.

Upon arriving, they discovered that Lucius had mounted a second assault from the ground, but it had been repelled by Severus, Hagrid and the others. The gates of Hogwarts remained closed and the cracks in the walls mended by Flitwick and Pomona.

Arista was so weary she could barely stay on her feet after transforming back from Dragonshape. Drake lent her his arm as he escorted her up to Ravenclaw Tower and she was so tired she didn't even protest when he spoke the password to the portrait hole and carried her inside to her bed.

"Go to sleep, and dream of me," he whispered into her ear, kissing her tenderly before tucking the covers round her.

She gave him a lopsided smile. "Always. You get some rest too. I love you." Then she dropped off to sleep.

Drake remained staring down at her for a long moment, but at last he forced himself to turn away and go back down the stairs. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep, even though he was exhausted, so he headed down to the dungeons, not wanting to speak to anyone about what had happened yet.

He glanced down at the silver dagger he wore about his waist, it was something he almost never went anywhere without now. It was clean, no blood stained the tip, that had vanished when he'd Transfigured it back. But Drake had no trouble recalling how it had looked . . .

He bolted into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later he emerged, pale and shaken, and thanking God no one had seen him. _Some Dark Hunter I'll make, puking my guts up like a sissy_, he thought disparagingly. _That guy would have killed Arista, he deserved to die, so why the hell does it bother me so much?_ For it _did _bother him, it left a curious empty feeling in the pit of his stomach, an ache that would not go away. Regret pinched hi sharply, and he found himself wondering if there had been a way he could have avoided killing the other wizard, even though in his heart he knew there had not, that it had been kill or be killed.

But even that thought did not comfort him.

He wished desperately that Arista were awake to talk to, because she would understand best what he was feeling, and she always knew the right words to say, that would take away the awful weight of guilt and regret, the sick feeling that he was a murderer.

He walked down the corridor towards the Slytherin portrait hole, but when he reached it, he turned away. Malfoy and the others were there, and he did not feel up to dealing with their sneers and sly insinuations right then, he was still too close to the edge, and one wrong word might set him off and then murder would really be done.

He was so tired, he wanted to sleep, yet he was afraid to close his eyes for fear of nightmares. His chest felt heavy with the knowledge of what he had done, and he kept seeing the eyes behind that horned mask over and over . . .they had been surprised and shocked, then they had darkened . . .Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he angrily brushed them away.

He would not cry, not over a scumbag like that.

Yet he couldn't deny that a part of him wanted to sob like a baby, for he had lost something out there today and he knew he would never be the same. _Maybe I should have been a vet like my dad_, he thought miserably.

He recalled a place where he could hide, one where no one would find him, a small cupboard just past the Potions classroom, where Filch kept extra blankets and sheets and stuff. He had hidden there before, when Marsh and Hathaway and the others had hunted him unmercifully, in those long ago days when he stuttered terribly and was an outcast.

Yes, the cupboard would do nicely, he thought, hurrying towards it. Hopefully, he still fit in it, though that had never been a problem years ago. He'd always been small and slight, but recently he had gotten a growth spurt and was now much taller, though he was still slender.

He was so intent on reaching the cupboard that he nearly collided with Professor Snape, who was just coming out of the potions lab, having just finished helping Slughorn brew up a triple batch of anti-venom for the young bronze dragon stung by the wyvern.

Snape put out a hand just in time to halt the young wizard. "Careful there, Lockwood!" he reproved. "You almost knocked me down."

Drake glanced up, startled. "What? Oh, sorry, sir. I didn't see you there . . ." He quickly glanced away, his face flushing. _Good going, Lockwood, maybe you ought to run over some old lady next, and they could declare you a public menace,_ he thought scathingly.

"I figured as much," Severus said softly, noting the boy's pallor and the haunted cast to his features. _The kid looks like he's on the verge of collapse, Snape. Colin did say the fighting was rough out there today, he probably needs someone to talk to, at the very least,_ the Defense Master thought quickly. "Where are you going, Drake?"

"I . . .uh, couldn't sleep, so I was going for a walk," Drake managed. "I didn't mean to bother you, sir, so if you'll excuse me . . ." He tried to draw away from the older wizard, but Severus put out a hand.

"I can't sleep either, so we might as well take a walk together, since it isn't safe for you to be wandering about the school alone."

Drake stiffened. "I can take care of myself, sir."

"Yes, but the wise Hunter usually takes along a partner to watch his back," Severus said. "Humor me, Lockwood, and walk a bit this way." He took the other's arm and led the younger wizard past the potions classroom and down along a twisty corridor to the right that Drake knew led nowhere except to a dead end. He flicked a glance longingly at the cupboard as they went past it, but made no other attempt to leave. Clearly, Severus would not be put off by lame excuses, so best to let the man say what he wanted, Drake reasoned, then he could find a quiet hole to curl up in later.

They came to end of the corridor, Severus leaning a little more heavily on his cane than was his wont. At the end of the passage was a comfortable stone bench, padded with a leather cushion. Above it was an old tapestry depicting a silver snake sleeping around the base of an apple tree. Snape had often puzzled over that image when he was a student. Was the snake guarding knowledge or preventing others from obtaining it? Or did the artist merely have a liking for snakes and apple trees? Either way, the spot was ideal for a private chat, which was why Severus had come here.

"Let's rest here for a moment," he suggested, limping over to the bench and sitting down, playing up his leg outrageously so Lockwood would have an excuse to sit with him.

Sure enough, the boy came over and sat down, asking him if his leg bothered him.

"Not really, but it does tend to get stiff more in damp weather." He shrugged. "The price you pay for victory." He shot Drake a knowing look. "Some of us pay a different price than others, but victory costs us all in the end. Which is how it should be, or else it would be meaningless. You always value most what you've fought the hardest for."

"I suppose so," Drake said, sounding depressed. "But what if the price is more than you thought?"

"Ah. Then you have a problem. Do you think the cost was too high today, Drake?" Severus queried softly. "Colin told me you fought Death Eaters today, not only wyverns and giants."

"That's right."

"It's a bit different, fighting them than the monsters," Severus continued conversationally. "A wyvern or a troll, you can tell by looking at it that it's the enemy and you don't feel much remorse about killing it. But a dark wizard, you can't tell that he's a monster from the outside, unless you're an empath like Arista. You look at him and see a person much like yourself, right?"

"Yes."

"And maybe you think to yourself, that could have been me, but for the grace of God there go I. Except you're forgetting one thing, Drake. The wizard standing there isn't you, he lacks your conscience, and all he wants is to kill you quickly. He's probably tortured many people in his career, all in the name of whatever evil master he serves, and killed innocents too. The blood that stains his hands will never be washed away, nor does he care."

"I know that, sir. I know he's an evil bastard, that he nearly killed Arista, but still . . .I see his eyes in my mind . . .the way they were before my lance took him . . ." Drake shuddered, and closed his eyes. "It was horrible . . .it didn't matter that he was evil . . .all that matters is that I killed him . . .it _hurts_ . . ." Tears spilled from his closed lids, to his utter mortification.

"It does," Snape agreed softly, patting the boy's shoulder gently. "But that's not something you should be ashamed of. It should hurt, Drake, killing should never be easy. It should be something you do because you have to, to save your life or another's. Otherwise you're in danger of becoming like the Death Eater you killed. Now that cost would be too high to pay even once, son."

"I'm not really sorry he's dead," Drake sniffled. "Only sorry that I was the one who killed him. Doesn't make much sense, does it?"

"Actually, it makes a lot of sense. Before today you were a child, innocent, but now you're not. Now you've taken a life and it scars you, and that's what upsets you so much, because you know that you'll never be able to go back to the time before. And that hurts most of all."

Drake stared at him. "How do you know that? Are you reading my mind, sir?"

Severus shook his head. "No. I know because I've been where you are now, Drake. The first man I ever killed was a dark wizard much like yours, I would guess, and he gave me nightmares for months. I remember it still, as I do all the others I've killed. Not that there were so many, but I remember them and why I killed them for my own sake, not theirs. So I don't become like them, a merciless killer. But I let the guilt and shame go, Drake."

"How, sir?" the younger wizard cried. "I feel so terrible . . .so sick inside . . ."

"Do you need to throw up?" Severus asked in alarm, for the boy was very pale. He drew his wand, just in case.

"Already did that," Drake muttered.

Severus did not look surprised. "That's a normal reaction, I'd be worried if you _weren't_ sick afterwards."

"Were you, sir?"

"Yes, and so was Colin, and so is mostly every soldier who's ever walked a battlefield. There's no shame in it. Like I said before, killing should hurt, it should be hard for you. But you shouldn't wallow in guilt either. You did what had to be done, what you had no choice but to do. Right?"

Drake nodded.

"Then you've no need to feel guilty or ashamed over your actions."

Drake was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed. "Yes, that makes sense. Does it ever go away?"

"Eventually the memories fade a bit, though I won't lie to you and say you'll forget, because most of us don't. But we learn to live with them, though it's not easy, Drake. There will be times you'll wake up in the middle of the night and cry your eyes out, but that's okay. As Amelia used to say, we all have our own private devils, you just have to learn to face them, then they can't hurt you. Memories can only hurt if you let them, otherwise they're just reflections of the past." He put an arm about the young wizard and hugged him gently.

For a brief instant, Drake froze, stubbornly fighting the need to be comforted, then he gave in and allowed Severus to hold him. He breathed in the scent of mint and spices that clung to the Potion Master's black velvet robes, it soothed and comforted him. He buried his face in the black velvet and let the tears fall, crying away all of the shame and guilt and regret for innocence lost, until he was wrung dry and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was gone.

Severus remained silent, simply holding him, letting the grief spend itself.

At last Drake sat up, and accepted the handkerchief the older wizard handed him, drying his eyes. Oddly enough, he didn't feel like crawling under a table the way he had thought he would. Severus' matter-of-fact attitude eased the shame he normally would have felt bawling like a baby in front of his teacher, who would one day be his father-in-law.

"Did my little talk help any?"

"Yes, it helped a lot. Thank you, sir."

"Good, since this is the first time I'm giving it," Snape admitted, and his mouth twitched into a wry smile. "Although I'm afraid it won't be my last, since Arista's not here yet. Nor have we seen the last of Lucius and his sorcerers, so I'm anticipating having this same discussion again before the week is out."

Drake raised an eyebrow. "If I were, you, sir, I'd get some more handkerchiefs. You're going to need them."

"Most likely," Severus agreed. _Now there's a role I never thought I'd be playing, mentor and comforter to young wizards after their first battle. Strange, how the winds of fate blow sometimes, _the master wizard thought._ Albus would be quite amused, I think. And proud as well, the old fox! I always knew you had it in you, Severus, he'd be saying. _He eyed Drake thoughtfully. "Do you feel up to some supper, Drake, or would you prefer to go to bed?"

Drake considered, at last replying, "Well, now that you mention it, I am kind of hungry. Only . . .I don't really want to go and eat upstairs, the other kids will want to ask me all kinds of stupid questions and I don't feel like dealing with them tonight."

"Then you can have supper with me, in my quarters, along with Colin, Flick, and Cheyenne, who are also feeling the same as you are, I'd wager," Severus said firmly. "How does that sound, Mr. Lockwood?"

"Wonderful," Drake sighed happily. "D'you think Lucius will attack again tomorrow?"

"Probably. He won't let an insult like this stand, he can't afford to. Voldemort takes a dim view of failures, so Lucius will continue to attack until either he's defeated totally, or we are."

"He should just save himself the aggravation and surrender," Drake said.

Severus chuckled. "But if he did that, Lockwood, we would be denied the privilege of kicking his arrogant ass."

"True." Drake grinned. He rose to his feet.

So did the Defense Master. "Come, let's go get some supper. Kicking the snot out of dark fae and such always makes me hungry."

Together, they made their way back up the corridor, Drake shortening his stride a little so Severus could keep up.

* * * * * *

They had a most pleasant supper, just the three Hunters, Severus, Drake, and Trish. None of them discussed the recent battle, instead talking of other matters, such as the President of the AMA's attempt to pass a law that forced Dark Hunters to wear formal uniforms when apprehending criminals.

"Now that got voted down real quick," Colin laughed. "It's a Hunter's job to blend in with his or her surroundings, not stand out like a sore thumb. That's why we don't have an official uniform as such. These," he indicated his black ensemble. "are only worn during graduation or at Hunter funerals or when I'm giving demonstrations at schools to impress the kids. But never on a real assignment. Except here, since we're openly fighting bad guys."

"I think President Wilkes always wanted to be a ninja, you know with the black suit, mask, and the nunchuks? He probably had a deprived childhood, his mom wouldn't let him go trick-or-treating on Halloween, so now he has to make up for it by insisting we become ninjas instead," Flick remarked, making everyone laugh.

"Fat chance," Cheyenne grimaced. "A Hunter's anonymity has always been our greatest advantage. If he thinks we're going to blow that just so he can satisfy his sense of propriety, he's got another thing coming. He might as well tell all of us wizards to wear top hats and black cloaks and white shoes and pull rabbits out of our sleeves."

"Now that'd be a sight to see, you in a top hat and a man's shirt and pants, Cheyenne," Flick teased. "You'd look so cute, people would come from miles around just to look at you, pulling little bunnies out of your sleeve! You'd give some old man a heart attack!"

"I'm gonna give you a heart attack, buster, if you don't knock it off," Cheyenne mock-growled, socking the snickering combat master's apprentice in the shoulder.

Flick winced. "Ow! I claim police brutality. I'm calling my lawyer."

"You couldn't afford one," Colin remarked. "So just suck up and take it like a man, Bowen."

"Yes, Hunter Flynn, sir!" Flick said, giving his master a salute. Then he added slyly, "Maybe you'd like it better if we added a pair of dragon wings on the back of the coat, Lady Advocate?"

"Flick, you're asking for it."

"But you'd look stunning, Miss Merrick, and just think how pleased the president would be!" Flick declared, his eyes twinkling outrageously. "Why, Ah do declare, young lady, Ah've nevah seen such a bee-you-tee-full woman in all mah born days! Such class, such refinement, it makes an old Southern gentleman proud to be youah escort, mah dear," he drawled, mimicking the president exactly.

Colin and Cheyenne exploded in laughter.

"God, Bowen, I think you missed your true calling," the combat master said when he could talk again. "You ought to've gone in for stand up comedy."

"I know, but then my father would've disowned me," Flick said, smirking. "So I became a Dark Hunter instead and now my mother won't speak to me."

"Really?" Trish gasped. "That's awful!"

"I know," Flick declared mournfully. "Terrible, isn't it? Or at least it would be, if it were true," he added, with a mischievous grin. "Sorry, I couldn't resist."

Trish laughed. "You are bad, Bowen!"

"Uh-huh. But my mother loves me anyway."

"At least somebody does," Cheyenne shot back.

"Cruel, Cheyenne. And here I thought you had feelings for me," Flick said, pretending to gaze at her forlornly.

"Oh, but I do, Flick," she said, batting her eyelashes at him. "The feeling that I want to slug you every other day, sweetheart." And she reached out and tapped him lightly on the jaw.

"So much for my Romeo routine," Flick laughed. Then he raised his wine glass in a toast. "I ought to know better than to think I can compete with Adam Lightfoot."

"Who's that?" Colin asked.

"Her boyfriend. They're practically engaged."

"Congratulations," Severus said.

"Thanks," Cheyenne said, blushing slightly. "It's not official yet, but Adam's shopping for a ring as we speak."

"Is he a Hunter too, Cheyenne?" Trish asked.

"No, he's a weather wizard. Here's a picture of him," she reached into a pocket and withdrew a photo of a smiling dark-haired young man wearing glasses with his arm about Cheyenne.

"Wow! He's really cute!" Trish exclaimed.

Flick peered over her shoulder. "Nah. I'm cuter."

"In your dreams, Bowen," Cheyenne snorted.

"Miss Greenbough would agree with me, right?" he grinned at Trish.

Trish swallowed hard, for Flick was indeed very good-looking. "Uh, I'm gonna have to agree with him. Sorry, Cheyenne."

"That's okay, Trish. To each her own," the little Hunter laughed. "Just watch out for him. He's a heartbreaker."

"Maybe so, but he won't break my heart, will you, Flick?" Trish asked innocently.

"He better not," Severus interrupted before Flick could answer. "Or else he'll answer to me," he growled and gave the younger man one of his famous glowers.

Flick held up his hands, all traces of his teasing manner vanished. "I would never do such a thing, sir. I have the utmost respect for Trish, Severus, and would never hurt her."

"Good, because if I ever found out otherwise, Bowen, we'd see how good you really were in a duel," Severus threatened.

Trish rolled her eyes at Cheyenne and whispered, "Merlin, but why do I have to get an overprotective guardian?"

"They're all like that, kid," Cheyenne said sympathetically. "Fathers and guardians, all of them overprotective of their daughters. Mine wouldn't let me date until I was seventeen and even then he threatened to turn my first boyfriend into a statue if he kissed me longer than a minute, no joke. And his partner, Aventurine, was even worse. He said if he didn't like the way the guy talked to me, he was going to send him back to Pennsylvania via Dragon Air—meaning he would throw him into the air with a claw so hard he would fly back to Pennsylvania. I was lucky a guy stuck around three months with those two breathing down my neck. Still, they meant well."

"I know, but I just wish he'd trust my judgement," Trish sighed.

"It's not you he doesn't trust, hon," Cheyenne said wisely. "It's the men. Although Flick's a good guy, for all of his smart aleck mouth. His mama raised him right, which is more than I can say for a lot of guys nowadays."

Trish nodded. "I know all about the other kind, believe me. My mom had an eye for picking the losers in every crowd. But I've got better taste than her."

"Long distance relationships are tough though," Cheyenne warned. "They take work."

"I know. But if he's willing, so am I." Trish stated firmly.

"Oh, I think he is. Sev didn't scare him away," Cheyenne observed sagely.

"Thank God," Trish muttered, casting a fond if exasperated glance at her guardian. But she wasn't quite that annoyed, since she knew that Severus was only concerned for her welfare, unlike her own father, who had never cared two beans who she went out with, much less asked to meet them. Once Louis Greenbough had remarried, his whole focus had become his new wife Jane and eventually their baby. Trish had become an afterthought, the daughter he wanted to forget he had. But Severus was not like that, she knew he genuinely cared about her, and so she put up with his sometimes old-fashioned viewpoint.

She glanced sidelong at Drake, who'd been rather quiet all during supper, and caught him grinning knowingly at the way Severus was grilling Flick. He winked at Trish, as if to say, don't worry, if Flick can make it past Severus's eagle-eyed inquisition he's the right one for you.

Trish bit her lip nervously, though she told herself not to worry. Flick Bowen was a Hunter, he'd faced down hardened criminals. Then again, there were criminals and there was Severus Snape.  
But Flick did not disappoint her.

* * * * * *  
Later on that evening, after the Hunters and Trish and Drake had left, Severus was just settling down in his sitting room with a book when there came a tap at his door. "Come in," he called, thinking it was Arista needing to talk with him.

But it was not his tearful daughter needing reassurance, it was a penitent Draco. "Sir, I really need to talk to you."

Snape scowled. "Make it quick, Malfoy, I'm tired. Who have you come to complain about now?"

"No one, sir. I came to apologize, sir."

"For what? For breathing?" Snape sneered.

Draco winced. "I guess I deserved that. But I really am sorry, sir, for the way I acted before. I was out of line, talking to you that way . . ."

Severus was immediately suspicious. "Is this confession of guilt going somewhere, Malfoy?" he demanded snidely. "I haven't got all night."

"Yes, sir. You see, sir, I was told by my father to say those things to you or else he'd cut me off without a Knut. But I never wanted to, not really. I really am sorry, Professor."

"Do you think this speech is supposed to make me forgive you and let you off house arrest, Malfoy? Because it won't work. The terms of your confinement remain the same, and cannot be altered by me. Those are the Headmistress's orders."

"I know, sir. But . . .what if I was to swear loyalty to Hogwarts, sir? Would that mean I could have the run of the school again?" Malfoy pleaded.

"It might, if you truly meant what you said, and if I could trust you not to break your word." Snape said severely. "However . . .I'm not sure I can, Malfoy. The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree, as they say."

"I'm not my father, sir!" the boy said indignantly. "I'll swear whatever you want, sir."

"Will you drink Veritaserum, Malfoy?"

Malfoy hesitated for an instant before he nodded.

Severus chuckled. "Never lie to a master spy, boy. You very nearly had me fooled." Then he snarled softly, "Get out of here, you slinking little ferret, before I tie your tongue into a permanent knot!"

Malfoy opened his mouth to protest, then shut it when he saw Snape reach for his wand.

He was out the door before Snape had even put a finger on it.

The Head of Slytherin House shook his head. "Lucius, how dumb do you think I am, to fall for that pathetic act? I'm not senile yet, old _friend_!" he sneered.


	18. Draco's Gambit

**Draco's Gambit**

Draco was growing more and more desperate, after the way he'd messed up his big chance at getting Snape to forgive him. His father had given him explicit instructions that he was going to mount another large assault upon the castle soon and he needed Draco to let them inside for it to succeed. Lucius had told him quite firmly that failure was not an option, that he was to have a way open for him, Greyback, Narcissa, a large number of Death Eaters, plus vampires and ghouls and revenants under the control of Dirk Wrackspur the Ghost Master. Those creatures were not patient when their blood was roused and Lucius knew that if they were not offered human prey to feed off of, they would turn on him. Therefore Draco must fulfill his part of the bargain and help them infiltrate Hogwarts.

"I'm depending on you, son. Now don't disappoint me. Remember who and what you are," were Lucius's parting instructions. "Your mother sends her love and says to do all in your power to aid us, like a true son of the House of Black." Narcissa's family name was Black, she came from an ancient pureblood wizard house and was justifiably proud of her origins.

Narcissa had thought her little deception would work with the Potions Master, whom she regarded as a bit soft where Draco was concerned. She had been completely wrong, for after Draco's outburst in the Great Hall, Severus no longer trusted him. There had been no softness about the man last night, Draco thought bitterly. He had shown Draco quite clearly that he had nothing but contempt for him, and for some reason that bothered the boy profoundly. He had always admired the Potions professor, admired his discipline and his control, since they were qualities he lacked, and also Severus' cleverness and magical prowess. It had been an utter shock to discover that Snape had betrayed his position as Lucius' spy, that the man was not at all what he'd pretended, that he—a mere half-blood—had played the most powerful purebloods in the world for fools.

Draco had always hoped that one day Snape would choose him as his special apprentice, to mentor him in the ways of the Dark Arts, only to find that dream could never be. For Snape was no dark sorcerer, but a craven wizard of the Order of the Phoenix, who detested everything Draco's family stood for, and was their sworn enemy.

Furious at the way Snape had betrayed him, Draco had unwisely challenged him that day, and was promptly humiliated for it. Just thinking about what Snape had done made his cheeks burn. Severus had made him look like a spoiled child, one in need of an adult's firm hand, he thought bitterly.

_But I'm not a child, you snarky git! I'm sixteen, almost a man by wizard standards, and I deserve to be treated like one. I'm going to make you regret that you ever hit me, Severus Snape, what are you, after all but a half-Mudblood? Weak and cowardly, like all your half-breed kind. You're no true Slytherin, you're nothing but a bloody traitor and someday you'll get yours, this I swear by the Dark Lord himself!_  
He felt a little better after making that vow, for now he was placed squarely in opposition to his former Potions Master, and therefore had no need to respect the man or spare him any grief when his father came to Hogwarts and showed them all the true might of a Malfoy. _See how Snape liked it when he was betrayed_, Draco sneered.

The only problem was how he was going to fulfill the promise he'd made to his father. Convincing Snape of his innocence was out of the question, the man wouldn't believe anything Draco said, and Draco's charm and slick tongue wouldn't work on Snape either. Repeated attempts to convince the Defense Master of his sincerity would only rouse the professor's suspicions, so Draco had to think of another way to get out of the common room without Snape being any wiser.

He wished he had an Invisibility Cloak or could transfigure himself into an animal like McGonagall. But such spells were beyond him and he had no wand to cast with anyhow, since Snape had confiscated it. Draco's brow furrowed and he sat on the black couch staring up at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, the Founder of Slytherin House, pondering a way he could slip past Severus' warding and escape.

_What would you do, Salazar? Something sneaky and cunning, no doubt. But what?_

Suddenly he recalled the way Barty Crouch Junior, a former inmate of Azkaban and one of Voldemort's most fanatical followers, had managed to fool everyone at Hogwarts into thinking he was Mad-Eye Moody, a respected Auror. He'd used Polyjuice Potion to mask his outward appearance and then adopted Moody's mannerisms. The ruse had worked for a year, until the eve of the Triwizard tournament, Draco recalled.

All Draco needed was ten minutes to open the secret passage in the dungeon that led to the grounds and get his wand back. The Polyjuice Potion lasted an hour. Now who should he try and turn into? He'd love to get that goody-goody Lockwood in trouble, but he knew he had as good a chance of getting a piece of Lockwood's hair or fingernails as he did Snape's, which was to say none at all.

Just then Crabbe and Goyle entered the room, from the crumbs and stains on their shirts and robes Draco knew they'd been stuffing themselves again. One thing they couldn't complain about was the food, they were fed regularly and it was the same food as everyone else in the school ate.

"Where have you two been?" Draco demanded. "Wait, let me guess, pigging out again, right?"

"Yeah," Goyle answered, licking the last of a cherry tart from his lips. "You missed a great dinner."

"I'll eat later," Draco waved a hand in dismissal. "I'm too busy right now."

"Doing what?" Goyle asked.

"Figuring out a plan to get out of here," answered his friend, speaking so softly they had to strain to hear him.

"What plan, Draco?" Goyle cried, forgetting to be quiet.

"Shut up, you dumbass!" Draco snarled, glaring daggers at the other boy. "You want the whole school to know?"

Goyle shook his head. "Uh, no. Sorry. But what's the plan, Malfoy?"

"I don't know yet!" Draco snapped irritably.

Crabbe groaned softly.

"What's wrong with him?"

Goyle shrugged. "His stomach again. You know how easily it gets upset."

Draco rolled his eyes heavenward. "If he quit eating like two pigs at a trough, his stomach wouldn't bother him. God, but the two of you don't have the brains of an ant between you, I swear!"

"I couldn't help it," Crabbe groaned. "The pastry was so good and so were the cupcakes and the cookies . . .oww!"

"If you have to be sick, Crabbe, be quiet about it!" Draco said unsympathetically. "You're breaking my concentration."

"I can help you with the plan, Draco," Goyle offered.

"Oh, right. You're too stupid to plan your way out of a paper bag, Goyle. Now shut your fat face and let me think for a minute. Between him moaning and your stupid comments, it's a wonder I can string two sentences together." Draco sneered. Suddenly he had a brilliant idea. "I've got it! Oh, this is perfect. No one will ever suspect anything. Now all I have to do is figure out who I can bribe to get me what I need." Draco's nose twitched eagerly, much like the ferret he'd been compared to. "Goyle, who's the poorest student in Slytherin?"

"Uh . . .that's easy! Jack Montague. He barely has two Knuts to rub together, gets all his stuff secondhand from all the shops."

"Good. Then I'm sure he won't mind making a few galleons," Draco said, smiling evilly. He rubbed his hands together. "Oh, I love it when a plan comes together."

"What plan?" Crabbe asked, still holding his stomach.

"I'm not going to tell you yet. You'd blurt it out first chance you got and then everything will be ruined. Now, where's Montague?"

Goyle thought for a moment. "Probably eating supper in the hall with everyone else."

"Oh, right. You did say it was suppertime," Draco muttered crossly. "All right. I might as well eat something before I offer Montague the chance to make an easy five Galleons." He rose to his feet. "You'd better not have eaten all the food, you pigs, or else!" he walked out of the sitting room to the small dining alcove where the house elves brought their food and laid it out for them. There was still plenty left, and he ate hungrily.

Now all he had to do was to wait for Montague to show up and see if the bait of five Galleons was enough to snare the other boy into running a little errand. Draco smiled, looking like the cat who swallowed the canary. Truly, this was a plan worthy of Salazar himself.

* * * * * *  
The next night, Draco was ready to put his gambit into action. Montague had fallen into his hands like ripe fruit, doing all he asked in return for a six Galleon bribe. The other boy had snuck into Professor Slughorn's personal potions cupboard and appropriated three potions, two of Polyjuice and one Draught of Living Death. They were now hidden in the bottom of Draco's trunk, waiting for phase two of his little plot.

He'd contacted his father via the small two-way magic mirror Lucius had given him, telling Lucius that very shortly a passage into the school would be open, and he would give him more details later, when the deed was accomplished.

Lucius would create a diversion to draw away the dragons, so he and his undead force could slip onto the grounds to the secret entrance unnoticed. Draco would contact him again when the secret way was open.

Now it was time to let his ever-faithful twin dupes in on the plot. He summoned Crabbe and Goyle to him and outlined the plan that would end in hs escape and Lucius' infiltrating the school.

"Here's what we're going to do. You're going to give me one of your hairs, Crabbe and I'm going to add it to my bottle of Polyjuice Potion. Then I'll give you one of mine and you can drink the second draft, turning us into each other. Got it?"

"Yeah, I think so." Crabbe muttered.

"Pay attention! This is the important part. After you become me, Crabbe, you're going to get really sick. Or rather, I am."

"From what?"

"From this," Draco waved the vial with the Draught of Living Death under Crabbe's nose. "You take this and fall into a sleep that's nearly death. Then I'll run and fetch Snape, tell him something's wrong with you and you need Madam Pomfrey. He'll come over, see you almost dead and take you to the Hospital Wing."

"Then what? Will Madam Pomfrey cure me?"

"Probably, but that doesn't matter. I'm going to insist I accompany you, since you're my best friend, and then once we're out from under his eye, I can make a break for it. No one will ever suspect poor dumb Crabbe of doing anything so clever as trying to escape and that's why this is perfect. I can go and open the secret tunnel for my father and the rest of his army, then sneak into McGonagall's office and get my wand back. Snape will never suspect anything, the doddering old cripple. Until my father comes for him, that is!" Draco chuckled maliciously.

"What about me, Draco?" whined Goyle. "What do I get to do?"

"You act all sad and go and stuff your face same as always, Goyle. And don't talk to anyone, for Godsake!"

"Okay, Draco," agreed Goyle. "But how will I know when your father gets here?"

"You'll know, believe me," Draco laughed. "Now, do you both understand what to do?"

"Uh huh."

"Yeah."

"All right then. Let's do it."

He uncapped the first bottle of Polyjuice potion and held out his hand for Crabbe's hair.

"Professor Snape! Come here, sir! I think something's wrong with Malfoy," cried Crabbe, banging on the door of Snape's quarters loudly.

"Just a minute!" came the professor's voice from behind the door. He sounded cross and irritable. The door was jerked open and Professor Snape stood silhouetted in the doorway, scowling forbiddingly. "What's the matter now, Crabbe? Malfoy stub his toe or something?"

"No, sir. He said he was feeling sick and then he just fell on the ground," Crabbe explained haltingly. "Goyle touched him and said he wasn't breathing. Maybe it was something he ate?"

Snape swore softly. "Is he allergic to anything?"

Crabbe looked puzzled. "Uh . . .I don't know, sir."

"Figures," Snape shook his head. "Very well. Where is he?"

"In here, sir. He fell on the ground near the fireplace, but Goyle and me put him on the couch after." Crabbe said, leading the professor into the common room.

Draco was on the couch, with Goyle hovering over him. Snape moved swiftly over to examine the boy. He was very pale and his chest hardly seemed to move, though when Snape put his ear to the boy's mouth, he could just detect a breath. He put a finger on Malfoy's wrist, taking his pulse. It was slow . . .too slow.

Snape shook his head. "How long has he been like this?"

"Ten minutes," Goyle answered. "When we couldn't wake him up, Crabbe said we should tell you, sir. Is it serious? Is he gonna die?"

"His pulse isn't normal, that's for sure. It's almost as if he's in a coma. Or a deep sleep." Severus frowned. "Did he drink anything before he collapsed?"

"Uh, I don't think so," Goyle began uncertainly.

"Yesterday, he did mention a tonic he was going to take, to help him sleep, sir," Crabbe recalled. "He said his mother always used it when she got headaches."

"Did he tell you the name of it? Think!"

"No."

"Goyle, go and check around his bed, see if you find any bottle nearby. Madam Pomfrey will need to examine it. Whatever the little idiot took was too strong, he's in a death-like trance. " He snapped his fingers and a stretcher appeared in the room. Another twitch and Malfoy's unconscious form was levitated on it. "I'm going to the Hospital Wing and we'll see if Pomfrey can reverse the effects of whatever potion he took. I think it's the Draught of Living Death, but I'm not positive."

He glanced toward the boys' dormitory. "Goyle, have you found anything?"

"Yes, sir." Goyle came running back down the corridor, holding an empty glass bottle in one hand. "This was by his bed."

Snape took it and sniffed at the mouth of the bottle. "Yes, as I thought. Malfoy took the Draught of Living Death by mistake. Stupid imbecile! A first year knows to label his potions better than this. Well, I'm for the Hospital Wing. Pomfrey should be able to put him right in half a day." He waved his wand over Draco's still form. "Mobilicorpus!"

The stretcher hovered then followed behind him as he walked towards the door.

"Wait! Can I come with you, sir?" pleaded Crabbe.

"What for?"

"Because . . .I, uh, don't think he should be left alone . . ."stammered Crabbe. "I just want to watch him for awhile, sir."

Snape eyed the round boy sharply. But Crabbe was looking at Draco with concern and nothing more. "Humph! Your loyalty does you credit, though it's wasted on him, in my opinion. Very well, you may come along with me, Crabbe. But remember, you are to stay in the infirmary at all times. If I come back and find you've left, I'll hunt you down and drag you back here by the scruff of your neck, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape motioned for him to precede him out the door of the common room, muttering the word that would allow him to pass the ward.

He never noticed Crabbe's sly smirk and the gleam of triumph in the normally dull eyes.

It was over half-an-hour before Draco had a chance to slip out of the infirmary unnoticed. Once Severus had delivered Crabbe, masquerading as Draco, to Pomfrey and told her what had happened, he left, and Pomfrey had administered a counterdraft to the sleeping boy before bustling off to see to some of her other patients.

"He ought to be fine by morning, thanks to Professor Snape's quick timing in getting him here," she told Draco briskly. "Stay as long as you want, but don't cause a ruckus and don't get in the way, you hear?"

Draco just nodded and took a seat near the bed.

Soon Pomfrey and her assistant Healer, Arista, were occupied tending various injuries gained by students on patrol duty on the battlements. Some had been cut by flying shards of rock or hurt by spells cast by some necromancer as they attacked the walls. While they were busy, Draco quickly slipped from the infirmary, making his way as quickly as he could down the stairs to the dungeons, where his secret entrance was.

All of the usual secret entrances had been sealed by Snape once Voldemort's army had been sighted, but even the Defense Master didn't know about this one, it was one Lucius had told his son about, and it hadn't been used since his father had been a student. Until now, that is.

Draco glanced furtively about before he tapped the wall and the passageway slid silently open. He quickly went inside, took out the mirror he used to contact Lucius and rubbed it with his hand, summoning the elder Malfoy to tell him the way into Hogwarts was now open.

He never noticed the silent figure of the Bloody Baron watching with angry eyes his terrible treachery. Once he had done speaking to Lucius, he quickly looked about him again, but the Baron went invisible and thus Draco did not see him.

But the Baron saw Crabbe, or whom he thought was Crabbe, opening a secret way into the school, and flew off to find Mel, so he could raise the alarm.

Unfortunately, it took the ghost awhile before he located her, and by then the first of the Death Eaters and their ghastly allies had entered through the tunnel, slithering though the shadows with deadly purpose, searching for humans to eat and to slay. The betrayal of Hogwarts was complete, and with that single act Draco had shown himself to be a true Malfoy—deceitful and treacherous to the core.

* * * * * *  
Professor Snape was heading back down to the dungeons, he had just come from a hasty conference with McGonagall, when he heard an odd muffled whimper and a thump as of something being dragged along the floor. It was coming from the study hall next to the library, and he wondered if some student was playing a prank on someone.

He went as swiftly as he could towards the doorway, which was open, hoping to catch whoever it was in the act. But what he found wasn't at all what he expected.

A seven-foot tall werewolf was holding third-year Mercy Hawkins in his terrible claws, baring his huge fangs and drooling all over her in anticipation of the feast soon to come.

Poor Mercy was petrified, barely able to move, he had one huge paw about her throat preventing her from doing little more than whimpering. Tears poured from her eyes, which were glazed in terror.

For an instant, the blood-red eyes of the werewolf met Snape's own, then it threw back its head and howled shrilly, warning the Defense Master to keep his distance.

Snape's wand was in his hand before the werewolf had finished howling. "Let her go, monster!" he yelled, while casting Sectumsempra nonverbally, which was how it was originally meant to be cast. "Duck, Hawkins!"

Mercy twisted hard against the werewolf's hold, just managing to get her head down before the silver light flashed from Snape's wand and struck the murderous lycanthrope in the chest.

Four gaping wounds appeared on the werewolf's chest and the beast released Mercy with a shriek, stumbling backwards clutching its chest, which was covered in blood.

The girl stumbled towards her teacher, sobbing, and Severus caught her in one arm, pulling her behind him and casting Inferio at the injured werewolf. The fireball took the werewolf in the midsection and it exploded into flame. In moments the only thing remaining was a faint grease spot upon the floor.

Severus held the stricken Mercy at arms length. "Did he bite you, Miss Hawkins? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"N-noo!" the child wailed, almost incoherent with terror.

"Are you positive?" the professor demanded, shaking the girl slightly.

Mercy nodded, gulping sharply. "I-I thought it was going to kill me! It came out of nowhere and grabbed me, Professor Snape! I w-was studying and it-it just grabbed me up!" she began to sob again. "H-how did it get here? I thought we were safe!"

_So did I_, Snape thought grimly, patting the distraught girl on the shoulder. "Something's gone very wrong here," he muttered half to himself. "Come along, child. You need to get back to Ravenclaw Tower. Professor Sinistra will protect you there." He began to lead the girl back towards her House.

Just then his spellophone ring chimed. He pressed the button on the right to receive the message. "Dad! Mel says the Baron saw Crabbe letting Lucius and his army into the school. Only afterwards he turned into Draco somehow."

Snape stiffened. _Malfoy! I should have known_. "Polyjuice Potion," he spat. "That's how they did it. Arista, tell Mel to summon up the ghosts, all in range of her call. We're going to need their help. I'm putting everyone on maximum alert now, and anyone who's not a member of a patrol squad needs to go back to their dormitory immediately. I'll meet you in the Great Hall after I'm done escorting Miss Hawkins back to her House."

"Be careful, Dad!" Arista warned. " Mel says there're vampires and ghouls about and dementors too."

"Werewolves also. Watch your back, Arista. Bye."

Mercy was staring at him with wide eyes. "They betrayed us, the damn traitors! Crabbe and Malfoy sold us out!"

"Yes, but you don't have time to worry about that now, Hawkins. Come on, we need to get you back to the Tower," Snape urged. He hoped that his patrols weren't encountering more than they could handle, but he couldn't spare the time to check on them using the Marauders map. His first priority was getting this student to safety.

Once he had dropped off Mercy and told Professor Sinistra the situation, who assured him that nothing would hurt the students on her watch, he hurried as quickly as he could to Minerva's office to inform of her of the situation.

She was already aware of it, however, having seen the arrival of Lucius, Wrackspur, and Narcissa in her Foe Glass. "Severus, we must get the younger students to safety!"

"I know, I've started doing that already. And I've instructed Melinda Seton to call up her ghosts, as many as she can summon. Her revenants just might make the difference between victory and defeat."

"I certainly hope so! Pomona didn't hide the last ghostwalker in Britain all these years only to have her fail now!" McGonagall said, and turned to Fawkes, who was chirruping agitatedly on his perch. "Fawkes, it's time to sound the alarm," she ordered, and the phoenix promptly flew out of the door, screeching loudly enough to wake the dead.

"I must see to the younger students first, Severus, then I shall meet you in the Great Hall," the Headmistress said, and Severus nodded. He pulled an oak wand from a pocket of his robe and handed it to Minerva.

"Give this to Sybill, she'll need it if she's going to guard the children in her Tower. It's a combat wand, it'll cast a certain amount of spells, ones that I know she'd never cast herself." He gave the Headmistress a short piece of parchment. "They're listed here, tell her to memorize them and then destroy the list."

Minerva eyed the wand with interest. "Very clever, Severus. I didn't know you knew how to make these."

"Any port in a storm, Minerva. This will make even a Seer into a fighter, for a time. Good luck," he said, then he half ran out the door, cursing his awkward leg.

The click of toenails on the stone made him whirl about, wand drawn. He sighed in relief when he saw Scout, who trotted up to him, a worried expression in his intelligent blue eyes.

"Hey, boy," he greeted the magehound. "There's no need for you to track down dark wizards today, because they've found you. Scout, guard!" he ordered, putting the great dog on full alert status as well.

Scout barked once, then fell in beside him, watchful and wary. If any enemy showed itself, the big dog would not hesitate to attack.

"Come on, Scout. Let's go find Colin, Cheyenne and Flick."

They walked up the stairs towards the second tier of rooms.

* * * * * *

Down in the Great Hall, Arista and Mel were gathered with the other students of Snape's little patrol group, including Ginny, Neville, Cho, and Hathaway. Drake, Kit, and Trish had just come off of duty outside and reported that all was quiet, save for a group of nightmares and wyverns that the bronzes were seeing to. They were astonished to find that the school's defenses had been penetrated.

"Damn Malfoy!" Drake snarled, his gray eyes glittering with fury. "I should've broken his jaw when I had the chance the slinking ferret. I always knew he wasn't to be trusted."

Murmurs of agreement came form the other students, until Arista hushed them, for Mel needed to concentrate.

The ghostwalker shifted into phantom form, becoming insubstantial as mist over the moors. "Wrackspur's here, I can feel him," she declared chillingly. Then she began to chant softly, "Come ghosts of Hogwarts, I call you to fight. Defend your school, defend your students."

All the ghosts in the castle appeared in the hall—the Bloody Baron, the Fat Friar, the Gray Lady, Nearly Headless Nick, even Peeves. They in turn were joined by the members of the Headless Hunt, and Moaning Myrtle. One and all they saluted the last ghostwalker.

"We hear and obey, Ghostwalker!" they cried.

"Go and fight where you will," Mel ordered, sounding like a general marshalling her troops.

All of the ghosts suddenly became a little more substantial, for the power of a ghostwalker had now granted them the ability to do true harm to their enemies, much like a revenant. Peeves shot off with a howl, cackling gleefully, "A license for mayhem, oh my!"

The others vanished as well, going to where they were needed most, to engage the vampires and ghouls in combat.

Mel smiled. But she was not done yet. She sent her call out beyond the walls, for not far from the castle had been the site of an ancient battle and many soldiers of the Highlands and England had fallen there.

"Awake and hear my call! I, Melinda Ghostwalker, summon you to fight for me! Come to me, joined against a common enemy, and fight the Dark Lord!"

Her words were like the clarion call of a trumpet.

They echoed in the spirit realm, and none of the ghosts could resist her compulsion. One by one, Highland clansmen and British knights, rose and advanced towards the castle, each carrying the weapons they had fallen with, glowing with a silvery radiance, surrounded by the icy chill of death.

Over a thousand men had died on that bloody field long ago, and all of them awakened to Mel's command and came to fight for her, armed with claymore and halberd, lance, bow, axe, and long sword, mace and morningstar. They slipped into the castle, drifting through the walls like smoke, an army of the dead, silent as the grave.

They were led by a grizzled Highland chieftain, who appeared before Mel in a swirl of greenish vapor. "Lady, what is thy will?"

"Defend this castle, and protect all the students within it," Mel told him. "Fight the dark ones who have invaded Hogwarts."

"Thy will be done, Lady," the chieftain said, bowing to her. Then he bellowed, "You heard the ghostwalker, lads! Attack!"

Ghostly horns blew and the cries of the Highland ghosts filled the corridors as they charged through the castle, seeking foes to fight.

Mel reappeared, looking a bit drained, but she was smiling. "That ought to put a dent in your plans, Lucius!"

The other students cheered wildly.

Suddenly, one of the doors was blown off its hinges, and Wrackspur stepped through, followed by six or seven dementors and twenty revenants. His eyes were bright with the need to kill. They fastened upon Mel and he smirked and howled, "Get the dark-haired witch in the blue robes! Kill her!"

The revenants surged forward to do the Ghost Masters bidding . . .and froze when Mel held up a hand.

"Kill _me_, Wrackspur? I don't think so." she snorted, turning phantom again and hovering above the floor. "Get Wrackspur! Do it NOW!"

And the revenants obeyed.

They turned upon the Ghost Master, red eyes burning, chill fingers grasping, eager to suck the life out of him.

Wrackspur screamed, chanting Spirit Wrack frantically. But the spell could not deal with all the enraged revenants, and in moments, the Ghost Master had disappeared beneath a swarm of vengeful spirits, his life drained away to nothing.

Even the dementors hesitated at Mel's command, for they too were partially spirit and felt her compulsion.

Enough so the other students could attack, pointing their wands at the faceless specters and shouting, "Expecto Patronum!"

Silvery Patronuses exploded from their wands, slamming into the dementors and destroying them.

Soon the only things left alive in the hall were the students. Mel commanded Wrackspur's revenants to hunt down the Death Eaters.

"You stomped his arse good, Mel," said Kit, coming to stand beside his girlfriend's spirit form.

"Where's Professor Snape and McGonagall?" asked Ginny. "He always told us when the alert sounded to meet him here in the hall."

"Maybe they got killed by Malfoy's dad," blurted a student.

Arista shot a glare at the boy. "Stop that kind of talk right now!" she ordered. "My father's not dead, he went to gather the other Hunters and then he's coming here. I just spoke with him. Now why don't we all put up some multi-layered shields in case some more Death Eaters try and get in here?"

"Good idea," Ginny agreed, and began to cast the multi-layered Excelsior shield spell Snape had been drilling into them these past weeks.

Arista and the other SR's followed suit, creating an overlapping bubble of protection about themselves that could repel both physical and magical damage for a time. Some offensive spells could still penetrate the shield, but most of them would bounce away or be blunted. At the very least it would buy a student time so a teacher could come to the rescue.

Snape met Colin and Flick just as they were coming down the hall from their quarters, having been alerted by Fawkes' screeching. "What's going on? Are we under attack?" Colin asked, his sword was in his right hand. Flick was also armed.

"Yes. We were betrayed," Severus told them.

"By who?" Cheyenne asked, emerging from her room. "That little snot you placed under house arrest, Sev?"

"The same. He used Polyjuice Potion to switch places with a friend of his and played a clever trick on me so I would let them out of the Slytherin common room. I should have watched him more closely, the treacherous little maggot!" Severus said angrily.

"Tough break, but there's no sense in crying over spilled milk," Colin said practically. "What are we dealing with here?"

"Lucius himself, most likely, some of his top sorcerers, and a whole horde of revenants, dementors, vampires, and werewolves, by my best estimate."

"Sounds like fun," Flick remarked irreverently. "I haven't kicked a vampire's ass in a year or so."

"Well, I'm sure you'll get plenty of practice today, Bowen," said Cheyenne. She was armed with her pouch of shuriken and a belt of silver daggers. Severus knew she was an expert with them, he'd seen her take out a criminal with two shots back when they infiltrated the dragonslayers' base beneath St. Helens two summers ago.

"Let's go back to the hall, I'm to meet my students there." Severus said, starting back down the way he'd come.

"All of them?" Colin said in dismay.

"Of course not. Just the sixth and seventh years who were patrol volunteers," Snape clarified. "The rest of them are safe in their dormitories, with a teacher guarding them."

"Thank God," Colin breathed a sigh of relief. "Because for a minute there, buddy, I thought you were going to tell me we had to protect all of them at once, and we're stretched too thin as it is."

"I've had my ghostwalker summon up some revenants that might even the odds a bit, my friend."

"Right, I forgot about your ace in the hole," Cheyenne exclaimed. "I wonder how many will answer her call?"

"As many as can hear her, probably," Severus said.

Just then Scout snarled loudly, all the fur on his back standing up. An icy chill crept up the corridor, followed by a wave of bone-crushing despair.

"Dementors," Severus warned, and sure enough three of the faceless horrors appeared before them, skeletal hands reaching out to clutch them.

"Expecto Patronum!" the three Hunters and Snape shouted at practically the same moment.

Snape's silver phoenix Patronus shot right through a dementor, making it dwindle away to nothing. Once it had been a doe, symbolizing his love for Lily, but it had since altered to a phoenix, since his best memories were now all of Amelia. It was accompanied by Colin's gray striped tabby, which swiped and hissed at the advancing dementor, along with Flick's owl. Cheyenne's horse raced up and kicked one of the dark cloaked apparitions right in the face, and sent it wailing back to wherever hell it had come from.

But no sooner had they dealt with that threat, then five revenants popped up, hissing malevolently, accompanied by a vampire.

"Well, what do we have here, fellas?" crooned the vampire, its fangs bared. "A little midnight snack!"

The revenants laughed hollowly at the vampire's wit, and sprang at the four wizards and the magehound.

Severus summoned the Blackstaff with a snap of his fingers. One of the revenants charged him, and he swung the staff right at its head. Silver sparks flared as the Blackstaff struck the revenant squarely, and the ghost screamed and drew back, burned by the holy weapon.

Cheyenne sent four shuriken spinning into the air and all of them found a mark in the revenants before her, leaving smoking wounds in their insubstantial forms, for they too had been blessed and were of silver.

"Want to dance, Vamp?" challenged Flick, whipping out his bo stick and twirling it at the vampire.

"Meat with an attitude," sneered the vampire. "I like that. Makes the hunt twice as sweet." It lunged at Flick, moving with lightning speed.

But Flick was no longer there, having gauged the speed the vampire possessed correctly and dodging out of the way. He sprang up and over the bloodsucker, kicking out with his right leg as he did so.

The kick caught the vampire squarely in the back of the head, knocking the creature to its knees. Before it could get up, Flick was on it. He stepped on its back, bringing his bo stick around and jabbing it hard through the vampire's ribs, staking the creature.

"Nighty night Dracula," the young Hunter said, withdrawing his stick, then he set the corpse on fire with a softly spoken Inferio.

Behind him, Colin fenced with the last revenant, beheading the snarling ghost with a neatly timed slash. "Rest in peace," he intoned as the ghost faded away, freed from its unnatural bondage.

By then Cheyenne and Severus had dealt with the remaining revenants, sending them back to the spirit realm.

"Nice staff you got there, Sev," Colin remarked, eyeing the Blackstaff with interest. "It must have some powerful enchantments on it."

"It does. The Blackstaff has been in the Snape family for generations, it's a powerful holy weapon, carried by a Templar Knight long ago. But the Snapes quit believing in the legend of the staff generations ago, since no wizards had came from their line, and I found it buried in a trunk belonging to my grandfather after my father died. He never knew what he had, he probably thought it was just a nice walking stick. The Blackstaff doesn't need to be wielded by a wizard to be effective, however, but only a wizard would recognize it for what it truly was. It was created especially to fight undead."

"Which it does just fine, Snape old boy," said Cheyenne admiringly.

"So do you," Severus said, and then shot Flock a look of approval as well. "Nice job with the vampire, Bowen. That's the first time I've ever actually seen a man stake one before."

Flick looked embarrassed. "Shoot, Sev, I learned that move when I helped Colin clear out a nest of them a year ago in Seattle. Nothing to it really."

"If you happen to be a Hunter who knows martial arts and can move like the wind."

"Well, that's why they call me Flick. 'Cause I flicker in and out like a shadow."

"An apt name," Severus praised, then beckoned for them to follow him down the stairs.

They had just reached the bottom of the staircase when a whole horde of ghosts dressed in Highland kilts wielding claymores and a troupe of mounted knights raced past them, whooping and howling.

"Kill the dark ones, send 'em down to the devil. What dost thou say, lads?"  
bellowed a red-bearded Highlander in a blue and green stripped plaid.

"Aye! As thy Lady Seton commands!"

"What the blazes?" Flick gaped at the army of ghosts, which seemed never ending, as they swooped and swirled through them and about them, eager to follow the commands of the ghostwalker who had summoned them.

"I'd say Mel has outdone herself this time," said Snape happily.

The deluge of ghosts slowed, scattering all over the castle as per Mel's instructions.

The three Hunters and Snape continued onward to the Great Hall, which had a door knocked askew. They arrived just in time to catch Lucius Malfoy fighting with Arista and the rest of the SR's.

The Dark Lord's lieutenant was accompanied by his wife Narcissa, Draco, Avery and a few other Death Eaters as well as some ghouls and a werewolf or two.

Flick, Colin, and Cheyenne leaped eagerly into the fray, attacking a dark wizard each. Thus far, the kids' shield spells seemed to be holding, and they had paired up to fight the Death Eaters, just the way Snape had trained them.

Scout went for a sorcerer that was trying to curse Severus, unnoticed by the Defense Master, who had eyes only for his old enemy, Lucius Malfoy. The magehound knocked the skinny necromancer flying and his jaws closed over the wizard's wand hand with a snap. The Death Eater screamed, for Scout's bite had broken all the bones in his hand as well as his wand, rendering him useless in the battle.

Lucius faced off against Arista, his blue eyes cold as arctic ice. "So you're the one I have to thank for the traitor surviving the Dark Lord's justice," he said, his mouth twisting into a contemptuous sneer.

"Justice? You mean torture!" Arista shouted, her own eyes blazing.

"Justice for one who willing betrayed the great Lord Voldemort and his cause, little Healer," Lucius snarled. "He deserved nothing less! But for your interference he would already be in hell, girl, and I'd be master of this school!"

"You wish, Malfoy!"

Lucius' eyes narrowed. "Your defiance does you no good, girl! Give up now and save yourself a great deal of pain."

"Never! A Snape never gives up, especially not to scum like you Lucius Malfoy!" Arista yelled, and flicked two fingers at him. "Draco Inferio!"

Lucius threw up a hand, blocking the dragonfire spell just in the nick of time. It rolled over him, singing his hair and his robes, but the full force of the spell was muted. Still, her command of such powerful magic scared the Death Eater badly. "You'll pay for that, brat!" he roared, then cast a spell of his own making at her called the Hand of Voldemort.

A huge shadowy fist appeared in the air above Arista and swooped down and grabbed her, holding her fast, smothering the breath and the life from her. She was unable to draw a decent breath into her lungs, and black spots danced before her eyes.

_Drake . . .I love you_ . . .was the last thought she sent before everything went dark.

"ARISTA!" Drake howled, the cry drawn from the depths of his soul. "Leave her alone you bastard!" he charged towards Lucius, hate twisting his features into a terrible mask, only to be intercepted by Draco.

"Get off my father, Lockwood!"

"Go to hell, Draco!" Drake screamed. "Stupefy!"

The Stunning spell blew the blond-haired wizard off his feet, sending him crashing into the opposite wall. He slid down to lie motionless on the floor. Then Drake whirled around to face his original opponent, only to find his way blocked by a tall figure in a black cloak holding a black staff, throwing off an aura reminiscent of the Angel of Death.


	19. Snape vs Malfoy

**Snape vs. Malfoy**

"MALFOY! Turn and face me, coward!" Snape roared, his eyes blazing with the fires of awful grief and even more terrible hatred. "Or are you only capable of killing children, you murdering bastard?"

Lucius whirled, wand raised, to face his former schoolmate, a pleased smirk stealing over his features. "Ah, Severus! The spy shows his true colors at last. How does it feel, old friend, to lose that which means everything to you? To be betrayed as you betrayed me?"

"I was never one of you, Lucius! _Never!_ You might have seduced me into darkness as a boy, but you never had my true allegiance even then."

"You pledged your soul to the Dark Lord, Snape! You can't deny that!"

"I _do_ deny it, Lucius! You may have had my body and my potions expertise, but my soul remained my own, and the shadow taint never touched it. My Occlumency saw to that—a defense that not even your so-called omnipotent Dark Lord could break. Face me now, Lucius, and I will show you once and for all the real Severus Snape!"

"Oh indeed? Severus Snape the cripple? Severus Snape the sniveling beggar? The friendless outcast? The half-Mudblood hated by all his students? Is _that _the Severus Snape you mean?" Lucius laughed mockingly.

"You'll find out, won't you?" Snape growled, then cried, "Metamorphia arachnia!"

The spell streaked towards the fair-haired necromancer, who waved his wand and blocked it contemptuously. "That the best you've got?" he taunted, then howled in shock when a swarm of bees descended upon him as well, for Severus's first spell was a feint.

Lucius went backwards, beating at the angry insects frantically, before he managed to cancel the spell. But his handsome face was now covered in bee stings.

"Well, at least your face reflects your soul now, Malfoy!" Severus sneered. "Bloated and ugly as sin! Sectumsempra!" he thought at the other wizard.

At the same time, Lucius yelled, "Crucio!" one of his favorites.

Snape spun his wand counterclockwise, using Whirlwind Deflection, and the Torture Curse was rebounded and hit Avery instead.

Lucius screamed in agony as five deep slashes appeared on his body. But he managed the counterspell before he lost too much blood. "Nice try, Snape, but you forgot you showed me that one during your seventh year, didn't you?" he panted, his face gray. "Terra impermia!"

The earth cracked open at Severus's feet, but Snape was not caught by surprise. He transformed into his Animagus form, a black peregrine falcon, and soared to safety.

Severus the Falcon streaked high into the air, then dove down at the earthbound Lucius, talons extended, blurring through the air at over two hundred miles per hour.  
But just as his talons struck Lucius' head, the other wizard transformed into a king cobra, and Severus's talons closed on it instead, leaving bloody furrows in the snake's scales.

Lucius Cobra struck at the black falcon, who released his hold a scant second before the snake moved, and the cobra's strike missed by a hairsbreadth. The falcon shrieked its disdain and took to the air again.

Lucius coiled and spread his hood, hissing his fury at the taunting black bird, who appeared to be everywhere at once, a streak of lightning on ebony wings.

Twice more Severus dove at the cobra, and Lucius avoided the falcon's talons by the barest of inches. Only one of his return strikes managed to score on the bird, and then he only caught a mouthful of the falcon's tail feathers.

Lucius began to weave and sway sinuously, trying to entrap the dark falcon with his mesmerizing loops and endless circles, hypnotizing the bird into stillness. But Severus was no ordinary falcon, and though the dance of the cobra was beguiling, and a part of him wanted to stay and watch it forever, another part of his mind reminded him that it was a trap, and he broke the hypnotic pattern before he walked down Lucius' throat.

Hissing in rage, the cobra blurred, becoming a man once more. Wand extended, he summoned up a mighty gale that knocked the falcon end over end, spinning out of control.

Snape managed to release the falcon shape just before he slammed into the ground, which would have been fatal for the bird. As it was, the bone-jarring landing made him gasp in pain. His left leg was twisted beneath him and he struggled to get to his feet, teeth clenched, using the Blackstaff like a cane.

"Does it hurt, Snape?" Lucius taunted. "If Black were here he'd give you a new name, Snivellus! Snape the Gimp, he'd call you, the greasy beggar of Hogwarts."

Snape's eyes flashed murder at the other man. "Better a cripple than a child-killer, Lucius the Lackey! At least I don't kiss the ass of any man rich enough to buy my soul. Was the price worth it, Malfoy? To crawl to your master on your hands and knees like a dog and lick his boots? All honor to the Dark Deceiver!" Snape laughed mockingly, gaining his feet at last.

"You know nothing of my relationship with the Dark Lord, Snape!" Lucius cried, very red-faced. "NOTHING!"

"I know that you sold yourself into slavery, body and soul, Malfoy. He OWNS you, Malfoy, just like a wand or a boot. You are nothing more than a tool, to be used and discarded. And what's worse you put the collar about your own neck and threw away the key!"

"SHUT UP, SNAPE!" Lucius howled. "I'm no slave!"

"Poor Lucius. Still denying the truth, after all this time." Snape mocked. "Here's a taste of your own medicine, slave boy! Arciae arctica!"

A jet of freezing mist flew out of Snape's wand, enveloping Malfoy in a bluish gray fog.

When it cleared, Malfoy was encased in ice up to his neck.

Snape chuckled mirthlessly. "Oh, look! It's a slave on a stick!"

Lucius began muttering the countercharm frantically, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.

"How _dare _you mock my husband, you Muggle-loving freak?" Narcissa, shouted, and lifted her wand to curse Severus from behind. "Avada—"

"I don't think so, harpy!" Trish screamed. "Dessicare!"

Narcissa gaped at her, her eyes wide in her pale face, then she began to wither and crumble to dust, turning into a mummy.

"Cissy?" Lucius gasped, the ice half-melted from his body. "No!"

"How's it feel to lose the one you love, huh?" Trish cried. "D'you like it?"

Lucius snarled wordlessly and sprang at the girl, blurring into cobra form.

But that was what Severus had been waiting for. He brought the Blackstaff down on the cobra's back, the instant before it could react, for there was a period of a few seconds inbetween changing forms when the wizard was vulnerable to a precisely-timed strike, his mind disorientated from shifting shapes.

The holy silver tip struck the cobra hard, breaking its back in two.

The snake flailed and writhed on the flagstones, unable to move, flopping about like a worm on a hook, utterly helpless. Its fangs closed on empty air.

"Now who's the cripple, Malfoy?" Severus demanded.

The cobra spat at him weakly.

"And so you die as you have lived, a slave to darkness," Snape pronounced, then brought the Blackstaff down for the last time. "_That's _for my daughter, Lucius!"

The king cobra lay broken and bloodied on the floor, the fiery eyes dimmed forever, and Voldemort was now short one of his most powerful sorcerers.

"That's what you get, Malfoy, when you mess with a Snape," Drake said softly, glaring down at the broken body before giving it a vicious kick. "King snakes always win over cobras." Then he stared at Severus with tears in his eyes. "Sir, we've got to help Arista. She's still alive, but I don't know for how much longer!"

Snape moved then, dropping the Blackstaff with a clatter, to kneel beside his stricken child and gather her into his arms. "I'm here, Arista mine," he crooned. "Don't go, sweetheart. Stay with me." He murmured a Springbok charm, heedless of the tears blurring his vision, and sprang away towards the Hospital Wing with the speed of a gazelle, unhampered by his crippled leg for once.

**Well, will they be able to save Arista? And was that not a really cool battle between Severus & Lucius? How did you like Snape's Animagus form? Fitting? Yes or no?**


	20. Dragonspell

**Dragonspell**

Severus hovered nearby while Poppy did her best to treat his daughter. His body ached fiercely from the battle with Lucius, but that was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. Drake arrived soon after and was practically breathing down Pomfrey's neck until Snape drew him away, pushing him into a nearby chair.

"You need to sit down and let her work, Drake," Severus told the distraught teenager, who looked on the verge of tears or a major mental breakdown.

"But I just want . . .I need to touch her, see . . .since I can barely feel her anymore, Severus!" Drake whispered, tears welling in his eyes. "She told me she loved me . . .that was the last thing she sent to me before . . ." His hands clenched into white knuckled fists. "She can't die! She _can't!_ I won't let her go."

"Neither will I," Severus vowed. "But all we can do now is pray, son."

Drake nodded dumbly, slipping into a kind of emotional shock that numbed his emotions. He'd been through this before, when his grandfather had died, it had enabled him to get through the wake, the funeral and the memorial service, but once it had worn off he'd done little but cry for weeks. But if Arista died, he feared he would go mad with grief, just the mere thought of losing her terrified him to the marrow of his bones.

_Don't die, please. Don't die. Don't you dare die, Arista!_ He repeated over and over in his head, until the words ran together and he trailed off, feeling as if a giant hand was squeezing his heart in two.

Severus felt much the same, cursing himself for not being quicker to arrive, for not getting Lucius' attention focused on him first, for failing to protect his little girl the way a father should. _Live for me, Arista sweetheart. Don't go to your mother just yet. I need you here, Drake needs you here, we couldn't get along without you. Stay with us._ He clasped his hands together and prayed more fervently than he ever had in his life. _God, I ask that You not take my little girl from me, please. If there is any mercy in You, Lord, please leave my Arista here with me. Grant me this one request, I beg You. Or, if You must take someone, take me instead._

He waited for what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was only an hour or so, before Poppy at last looked up from her patient. "Severus, I tried my best. But I'm not the Healer she is, and frankly, all I could do is heal her body. I've mended what was broken, but there's one thing I can't mend—her mind." The medi-witch looked utterly exhausted, and there were tears in her eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that when Lucius cast that crushing hand spell or whatever, it cut off the oxygen supply to her brain for a time. I fear her brain . . .is damaged, beyond my capacity to heal, Severus. I'm so sorry."

"Maybe someone at St. Mungo's?"

Pomfrey shook her head sadly. "I don't know of anyone who could repair this kind of brain trauma, Severus, except maybe Arista herself."

"What do you mean, you can't heal her?" Drake interrupted, Pomfrey's last words echoing like a knell of doom in his head. "You're a Healer, that's your job!"

Poppy shook her head regretfully. "I know that, Drake, and please understand no one is more sorry than I am, but some things are simply beyond the scope of human possibility, even with magic."

"You're wrong!" Drake cried angrily, standing up and coming to glare at the medi-witch eye-to-eye. "Nothing is impossible with magic. Arista believed that, so why don't you? I'll bet she could heal this in the blink of an eye!"

"I'm sure she could, Drake, but I'm not her!" Poppy snapped. "Arista was one of my finest medical students, perhaps the best I've ever taught. A Healer of her caliber comes along once in ten generations, Mr. Lockwood, and unfortunately I'm not one of them. Do you honestly think I wouldn't help her if I were able to?"

"I don't know! You say there's no hope for her, but you don't know Arista like I do. She would never give up, she's still fighting in there somewhere, I can feel her, and I'm not giving up on her." Drake declared vehemently. "And if you can't help her, then I'll find someone who can, dammit!"

Then he spun away and raced out of the room, before he lost his temper completely and said something unforgivable.

"Poor boy," Poppy said softly. "I wish there were something I could do, Severus, but all the spells I know can't fix this."

"What about another empath?"

"Maybe, but I don't think empathy alone can bring back the brain cells damaged from lack of oxygen. She may never wake up, or she could wake up and not recognize you or be mentally retarded somehow. I'm so very sorry!"

"So am I, Poppy. That should've been me lying there, not her. Who heals the Healer, Poppy?"

Poppy did not bother to answer, she was too upset at losing her best student to reply to a question she thought might be rhetorical. She would never say this aloud in Snape's hearing, but perhaps the kindest fate was to have Arista sleep and never wake up.

Severus knew he should go back up to the hall, that he needed to make sure all the Death Eaters and such were gone from the school, but he couldn't make himself leave her. Not just yet. He wished with all of his being that there were something else he could do to help her. He considered contacting Ari, his mother-in-law, though she was an Animal Healer, perhaps she might know of something, or could try something . . .He put his head in his hands, frustrated and weary and sick. If only he'd been a Healer instead of a Potions Master or a Defense Master. Not all of his potions could save her now, he thought in despair. _Dammit, I'm a wizard, I should be able to pull off one more miracle, just one . . ._he reached out to touch her hand, using his talent to touch her mind, much as he'd done with Jenna that day after she'd been struck down by Nightshade.

And he found himself lost in a realm of dreams. But the dreams were a good sign, he reminded himself. Dreams meant that her brain was still functioning, at least on some level. He remembered Drake's insistence that he could still feel Arista's emotions through the soulbond. She's in there somewhere, fighting to come back.

He tried to penetrate the web of dreams, but they were many layers thick and he was too exhausted to think straight. He withdrew, knowing that without rest he could do more harm than good. But he would not abandon all hope yet. He was a Snape, and they never gave up._ Physician, heal thyself_, he thought, and it was more of a prayer than wishful thinking.

He bent and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, my Arista. Please get well."

Then he straightened, wincing as his leg protested.

He began to limp across the room towards the door, when he came face to face with the moon-like features of Vincent Crabbe, who was only just now waking up from the Draught of Living Death he'd willingly imbibed.

"Professor Snape!" the boy yelped, shrinking back from his teacher, who was glaring at him with a terrible fury. "It was all Draco's idea, honest . . ."

"Get . . ._out!"_ Severus rasped, his hand clenching into fists. "Get out of here . . . now, before I kill you! You and him . . .the cause of all this . . .traitors to us all . . .I'll see you expelled for this . . .get out of my _sight,_ or so help me . . .!"

Crabbe went backwards off the bed so fast he landed on the floor with a thump. Snape's hand was on his wand, though his iron discipline still held, and he hadn't used it yet. But Crabbe could tell the professor was very close to snapping that control in two and cursing him horribly, and so he picked himself up and fled without another word, all the way back to the dungeons, where he immediately began packing to leave.

There was no doubt in his mind that Snape meant what he said, and soon they would be coming to expel him, to break his wand, and cast him out of Hogwarts for good and all. _What about Malfoy? Why don't they expel him too, since it was all his bloody idea in the first place?_ It wasn't fair. Malfoy always got away with everything, while he, Crabbe, took the lion's share of the blame.

Crabbe grabbed his trunk and started to climb out of the portrait hole.

"Hello, pretty," hissed a voice throbbing with hunger. "Come to Marvin for a nice snack."

"What?" Crabbe gaped at the vampire, who was staring at him eagerly, licking his lips, which were red with blood. "Ahhh!"

He tried to scramble back into the portrait hole, but the vampire was too quick.

There was a blur and then Crabbe was lifted like a ragdoll and teeth closed over his neck, biting down hard and beginning to feed.

Within moments, it was over. The vampire stepped back, blotting his lips delicately with his sleeve. "Mmm. Tasty." Then the creature heard footsteps and fled, slipping back through the secret tunnel and out into the night.

Back in the Great Hall, the students were still fighting small groups of vampires, ghouls, and werewolves, assisted by the three Hunters and Mel's ghosts. The ghost were most effective in fighting the vampires, for they were unaffected by the vampires' gaze and lighting speed. They were joined by Professors McGonagall and Pomona Sprout, who rendered several foes harmless by transfiguring them into rocks and chairs. Pomona cast a handful of seeds on the ground which grew into tendrils of kudzu as thick as a man's wrist, trapping the ghouls and werewolves in its coils, making them easy prey for the wizards' hexes.

The Hogwarts students had suffered some casualties, to be sure, but on the whole it could have been a lot worse given the fact that they had been betrayed. Thanks to Professor Snape's careful planning, most students had been brought to safety before the horde of monsters had begun roaming through the school. In addition to that Mel's ghostly army had kept the casualties down by fighting and killing any evil thing they encountered.

Mel found herself fighting back to back with Marsh and Hathaway, of all people, and to her surprise neither Slytherin commented on being forced to work with her. Apparently, the common foe they all faced had convinced them to set aside their differences and work together.

Flick, Cheyenne, and Colin were like wraiths, here, there, and everywhere. They accounted for half of the kills on the werewolves and vampires, who were the toughest foes the students now faced. The Hunters combined martial prowess with spellcasting in a deadly dance that was awesome to watch.

Colin could cast with one hand, taking out a charging werewolf, while simultaneously beheading a vampire coming at him from the side. Nothing ruffled the combat master's composure, he might have been taking a stroll through a park. Yet he was so deadly and so precise that his opponents died before they knew what hit them.

Cheyenne was no less fierce, in her way, a wizard with throwing knives and shuriken, able to hit four enemies in under a minute, and follow up an attack with a spell barrage. Five ghouls mobbed her, and she disappeared beneath them, only to reappear a few minutes later covered in greenish blood, and all the ghouls lay dead at her feet.

Flick was like the shadow he'd been named for, blinking in and out, keeping close watch on the students and assisting them when necessary with a well-timed thrust with a dagger or bo stick or spell. He moved like a dancer, gliding over the ground like some great predatory cat, silent and deadly.

Against the wall, Draco stirred, coming out of the Stunning Hex Drake had cast on him. He woke to discover over half of his father's vaunted strike force destroyed, and he himself was shackled with Null Magic Cuffs, courtesy of Flick.

He started to get to his feet, when a low growl behind him froze him in his tracks.

He turned his head slowly and met the blue eyes of Snape's magehound, who had taken it upon himself to guard the prisoner. Scout's teeth were bared in warning, and Draco shivered upon seeing them and quickly sat back down. He was not about to risk being bitten by the big hound, not after seeing the way Scout had taken down a Death eater at the beginning of this conflict.

Scout growled again, sitting down some five feet away from Draco, and eyeing him with extreme dislike. The magehound could smell the dark taint on the boy and knew he was not to be trusted.

That was how Drake found him when he returned to the hall, reasoning Malfoy might know some way of countering Lucius' Hand of Voldemort spell. "I need to speak to you, Malfoy."

Draco glared at the other boy. "Make it quick, Lockwood. I was going to go to sleep."

"You can sleep later. Right now I want a truthful answer and I want it NOW." Drake said in his most menacing tones.

"Ooo I'm really scared," Draco laughed mockingly. "Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance, Lockwood?"

"Because humiliation is a worse punishment than death for you," Drake snapped. "And I want you to live a long life with your cowardice. Don't mistake mercy for weakness, Malfoy, for it is neither. I could have killed you then, but I didn't. Want to know why? Because you're worth more alive than you are dead. For now, that is. I want answers to a very important question. Do you know of a counterspell to the Hand of Voldemort?"

Malfoy shook his head. "I've never heard of it."

Drake's eyes narrowed and he peered at the other boy sharply. "You wouldn't be lying to me, now would you?" he snarled, picking the other boy up by the collar and half-strangling him.

"Aghk!" Malfoy choked, his eyes bulging. "N-No! Stop! P-please!"

Drake released him. "Because if you are and I find out about it, I'll be back, coward! And I'll do worse than a Stunning spell, got me?" He glared at the other boy so menacingly that Draco shrank away and shivered.

Disgusted, Drake turned on his heel and left. He hadn't held out much hope that Draco would have the answer he sought so desperately, but he had to try anyway. He thought frantically. _What other Healers do I know besides my dad and Pomfrey?_ Not many, and none of them were as strong as Arista. Then he recalled Fireflash saying something to him once about Citrine, his mother. Citrine was a dragon Healer. Could the bronze know something that human Healers did not? He prayed it was so, for the dragon had lived centuries and surely had learned more than a human in that time.

He raced out of the hall, ignoring the startled exclamations of his friends behind him. He would explain everything to them later.

He went out into the courtyard and rubbed his dragonscale pendant. "Citrine! It's Drake Lockwood. I need to speak to you immediately, it's an emergency!"

The scale went transparent, then Citrine's face appeared in it. "I'm on my way, young wizard."

"I'm in the courtyard," he added unnecessarily, for the dragon queen was already circling in for a landing.

* * * * * *

After listening to Drake's explanation of what had happened, Citrine agreed to try some dragon magic on Arista. "You say your Healer thinks she might have sustained brain trauma?" Drake nodded. Citrine looked thoughtful. "Hmm. I know of a potion that might assist me with that, but it's very rare, and the ingredients are known only to one species."

"What one? Tell me and I can tell Severus, he can brew it."

Citrine snorted softly. "Oh, I don't doubt he can, young one, but the merpeople keep their magics secret from all, especially human wizards. It is very nearly the only advantage they have over you humans when it comes to sorcery. Still, seeing as how they owe a debt to Arista for saving their Water Mistress, I shall speak to Amlioranee, if anyone will consent to help your beloved it is she."

"Thank you, Citrine. I can't tell you how much this means . . ." he trailed off awkwardly, sniffling sharply.

The dragon looked at him sympathetically. "Do not lose hope yet, child. While there is life, there is hope. I will do all in my power to help you, for Healer Snape gave me back my son, and for that I owe her a debt that will never be repaid. Remember, nothing is impossible with magic."

"Arista always says that. She said it was her mother's favorite expression."

"And it is a true one. Amelia learned that from us, it is a draconic saying," Citrine said. "For with dragons, belief and power go talon in talon, or hands, in the case of you humans." She spread her magnificent wings. "Wait here, Drake. I shall be back in a few minutes."

Drake waited tensely for several minutes, fighting the urge to pace around and around like a demented wind-up toy.

But Citrine was a s good as her word, returning within four minutes. She landed lightly in the courtyard, saying with a pleased smile, "Amlioranee has agreed to make the Memory Restoring Draft for me. She also said to tell you that such is unprecedented, but for Healer Snape she will do anything, for she is the holder of Amlioranee's life debt."

Drake whistled. "I guess it was a lucky thing for Arista when she saved a mermaid that day."

"I think it is fate more than luck. And Amlioranee is no mere mermaid, young man. She is their queen and head of their Wave Mystics, the most powerful sorceress the Black Lake clan has, perhaps the most powerful of all the merpeople." Citrine chuckled at Drake's astonished expression. "Fortune smiles upon your soulmate, Drake. May it continue to do so, if the Creator is kind."

"Amen to that. How soon will the draft be ready?"

"Amlioranee says she should have it done in a few hours. You must give it to Arista and then bring her to me. I will convene a circle of dragons, for I shall need their strength for a spell of such magnitude."

"May I come with you?"

"Of course. You are a member of the Society of Bronze, and more, you are her soulmate. I shall need you to call to her, for the bond of love is the most powerful force in all the universe. You and Severus must be there, the bonds of blood and love are necessary if I am to succeed in finding her. I shall call you when the potion is ready, young mage. Until then, try and get some rest, you'll do her no good if you fall asleep on your feet."

"Yes, I'll try, Lady Citrine," Drake said, bowing to her. "I have to go and tell Severus. Goodbye!" he dashed away, eager to find Severus and tell the Defense Master the good news.

"Goodbye, Drake!" Citrine called, then took off to sit beside the lake and wait for the Water Mistress's return. Dragons were nothing if not patient. She cocked an ear towards the Forbidden Forest, where the sounds of battle could be heard. The centaurs and their allies were fighting the rest of Voldemort's army, who were attempting to get through the wood and attack the castle. Citrine did not think they would succeed, not pitted against the denizens of the forest and her own people.

Strong as those necromancers were, they were not in Voldemort's class, no match for dragonfire or the might of the centaurs. And even Voldemort would have had trouble handling a flight of bronzes, she thought in satisfaction, curling her forelegs beneath her.

Severus nearly wept with relief when Drake told him about Citrine's proposal and Amlioranee's agreement. "And to think, I scolded her for rescuing that mermaid that night," he shook his head in disgust. "Sometimes I'm such an idiot. I guess it's true, what they say, about the good you do returning to you tenfold." They were seated in the Headmistress's office, along with Minerva and Colin. The school was still on alert status, for Severus was not sure all of the ghouls and other dangerous creatures had been killed, and the ghosts were still patrolling the halls.

"I've always believed that, Severus," said Minerva. "I do hope everything works out for you, it would be a terrible tragedy otherwise."

The Potions Master coughed, sipping a goblet of spiced honey wine. "The worst thing ever, by my estimation. Have you heard from Albus yet?"

"Yes, he contacted me yesterday. His mission was a success and they are headed back here. Hopefully they will make it here before Voldemort does."

"Does Voldy know about them?" Colin asked softly.

"I would assume he must know something, he's not stupid. He does know about what happened here, how Lucius failed to take the school and how most of his army has been cut to pieces by the bronze dragons and the ghost legion," Minerva said proudly.

"He's probably going mad with fury," Snape declared with a sardonic smirk. "He's not used to losing on such a scale. If I had to guess, he's probably itching to get back here, to teach us upstarts a lesson."

"Humph! Let him come, and the dragons will give him a lesson he'll not forget in a hurry," Drake said. Then he yawned hugely.

"You ought to be in bed, Drake," Severus said, eyeing the boy in concern. "You look utterly exhausted."

"So do you, sir," Drake answered.

"He's right, Sev. You need to rest too," Colin put in. "You'll need to be alert for the ceremony Citrine has planned."

Severus shot an irritated glance at the Hunter. "I don't have the luxury of sleep, Flynn. Not now, at any rate. I need to make sure the school's defenses are brought up to scratch and all the monsters are out of here before I can even think of sleeping."

"Leave that to me and my Hunters, Sev," Colin argued. "We'll keep watch for you."

"Colin, you've already done enough," he began.

"Says who? The battle's not over until we're the only ones left standing, Sev. And until then, I'll do whatever needs doing. Up to and including telling you to get your stubborn ass to bed, Snape." He locked eyes with the other man, and after a few moments, Severus nodded.

"Very well, I'll go, if only to shut you up, Flynn," he conceded. "But those monsters better be cleared out of here by the time I wake up."

"Yes, sir!" Colin said, giving him a mock salute. "Quit worrying, Sev, you'll give yourself more gray hairs. Between us and the ghosts, we'll have all the nasty critters cleared out before you can say Quidditch. My word as a combat master on it." He held out a hand and Severus took it. "Especially since we don't have to worry about any more slinking weasels betraying us, like that Malfoy kid."

"I should say not, Hunter Flynn," agreed Minerva. "Mr. Malfoy has done enough damage to this school, we have him under heavy guard, he's not to be left alone for a minute and as soon as I can convene a staff meeting, we will vote to expel him, since we can't send a minor to Azkaban, despite his crimes."

"More's the pity," Severus growled. "I'll look forward to breaking his wand, though."

"And then what? You'll let him walk?" Colin asked.

"Yes, but he'll be powerless without a wand, and marked as untrustworthy forever more. The Ministry will keep close watch on him, never fear. The first hint of any dark magic and he'll be arrested," Minerva explained. "And the Ministry officials will be a lot less gentle than we are."

"I could give him a taste of Ministry justice now if you want," Snape offered, his eyes glittering with suppressed hatred.

"No doubt, Severus, which is why you're forbidden to see him. The last thing you need on your record is a murder." Minerva stated crisply.

"Oh, I wouldn't kill him," Snape drawled harshly. "But he'd wish I had."

"That's why you're staying away from him," said McGonagall firmly. "Now might I suggest you follow Colin's advice and get some sleep, please?"

"All right, God help me!" the Potions Master muttered crossly. "Anything to get you off my back." He rose to his feet, leaning on the Blackstaff. "But someone better feed Scout, he hasn't eaten since yesterday and guarding Malfoy's no picnic."

"We'll make sure he's fed, Sev. Now get!" Colin ordered, shooing the other wizard away.

Snape went, muttering something about younger brothers being a very big pain in the ass.

Drake bit his lip. "That goes for you too, Lockwood!" the Hunter ordered and Drake obeyed, hiding a smile.

* * * * * *  
Citrine delivered the potion some six hours later, and by that time Severus and Drake were well rested, having slept for most of that time. The school was now considered safe again, all of the remaining ghouls and such had been driven out by the ghost legion and the younger wizards on patrol with the Hunters. They had done very well, all things considered, and were a credit to their Defense Master.

Even Trelawney had outdone herself, using the combat wand Severus had provided to defend the twenty first-years in her tower suite against three ghouls and a Death Eater. She had been assisted by Comfrey, oddly enough, as the normally gentle feline had sprang on the sorcerer's shoulders and proceeded to claw and bite the man, making him fall down the tower steps.

All of the SR's were frantic with worry over Arista, and had each gone to see her while Snape and Drake were sleeping. It was a shock seeing the lively little Healer so still and pale, more like a wax doll than a living breathing person.

"Poor Arista," Trish wept. "I wish I'd killed bloody Lucius instead of Narcissa, then we wouldn't be in this fix. I wish bloody Lucius had hexed me instead, then Arista could heal me and everything would be fine. She can't die, Mel, then poor Severus would have no one left except me and I'm only his foster daughter and he'd never forgive me!"

Mel put her arms about her friend. "Don't be ridiculous, Trish, of course he'd forgive you, since none of this is your fault. Which isn't going to happen anyway, so stop driving yourself nuts, okay? And what's this nonsense about only being his foster daughter, huh? Didn't you tell me that he loves you the same as Arista?"

"Yes, but still, she's his blood and I'm not," Trish blubbered. "I'll bet he wouldn't feel half as bad if it were me lying there half-dead."

Mel opened her mouth to refute her friend's words, then closed it when she saw Professor Snape standing there, he had just entered the infirmary and caught Trish's last sentence.

"Now that has to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard come out of your mouth, Trish Greenbough," Severus said quietly, coming to stand beside them. Trish gasped and jerked her head up to stare at him, her eyes puffy and red from crying.

"But it's true."

"It most certainly is not," he stated firmly, and hugged her to him. "Silly girl, when I adopted you that made you my daughter in all ways except one, no matter what. Don't _ever_ think otherwise, child. In fact, when you're legally an adult, you can change your name to mine if you'd like and be Tricia Snape instead of Greenbough."

"Really? You wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all. I love you, child and I would be proud to call you my daughter. So I don't want to hear any more nonsense about it being better off if you were hurt instead, you hear?"

"Yes, Dad," she murmured and hugged him back hard.

He patted her on the back, then released her. "As far as Arista's concerned, Drake and I think the dragons and the Water Mistress Amlioranee might be able to cure her with their special brand of magic."

"Really? That's great! When can they start?" Mel queried, smiling delightedly.

"Now. Amlioranee just made up a Memory Restorative to give to her and then I'm to bring her to Citrine and the other dragons so they can work their spell on her. If all goes well, she should be fine in a day or two."

"That's the best news I've heard all week," crowed Kit, grinning from ear to ear. "The only thing that could top that would be if Voldy up and croaked all of a sudden."

"Keep praying, Ambrosius, and it just might happen," Snape said dryly. Then he moved over to the bed, and began to give Arista the Memory Restorative, a little at a time, with a small spoon.

The potion was a silvery blue shot through with golden sparkles and Severus was careful to make sure not a drop of it was wasted. The ingredients were a mystery even to him, and he hadn't bothered trying to pry the recipe out of the Water Mistress, for he sensed she would never share it with outsiders. All that mattered anyway was if it helped Arista.

Once he'd administered the entire draft to her, he gently placed her on a stretcher and floated her from the room.

"May I come and see?" Trish asked.

"Sorry, but no. The dragons will only permit those who have sworn Dragon's Oath to be present at the working," Snape told her regretfully. "But I'll let you know as soon as it's over. For now, why don't you get some sleep?"

"I don't think I can sleep," Trish said uncertainly.

"Sure you can," Mel broke in. "I'll just knock you upside the head, Greenbough. Then you'll sleep like a baby."

Trish made a face at her. "Some friend you are, Mel."

"Best one you'll ever have."

"How d'you figure that?"

"'Cause only your best friend would ever dare to knock sense into your head," Mel returned.

"Maybe you'd like me to sing you a lullaby, Trish?" Kit offered, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.

"Uh, no thanks, Kit!" Trish said hastily. Kit's voice was not given to soothing tones, resembling more the caw of a raven.

"Yeah, Ambrosius, she's trying to sleep, not be driven to distraction," Mel said.

"Oh, come on, Mel dear, you saying you don't find my voice enchanting?"

"Kit, you have a marvelous speaking voice, and I could listen to it for hours. But singing, that's a whole different kettle of fish. Don't feel bad, lots of people can't sing. Although there might be one thing your singing is good for, darling," she added with a sly smile.

"What's that?" Kit asked sulkily.

"Annoying the bloody blue blazes out of Draco," Mel answered. "Go and watch him for a few hours, Kit, and sing him all those awful ballads and Irish folk songs your aunt taught you last summer. It'll be the worst form of torture."

Kit looked torn between being insulted and being amused. But then he laughed softly and said, "All right, I will. And serve him right, the treacherous little ferret."

"Maybe you could get Scout to join in," suggested Snape wickedly. "He likes to sing too."

Mel and Trish burst out giggling. "Then he'll really think he's gone to hell," Trish chuckled. "Do it, Kit, and I'll sleep just fine, imagining Draco getting his just desserts at last."

"Your wish is my command," Kit said, giving her a mock bow.

"Have fun, Mr. Ambrosius," Snape said. "I'll let you know how all of this turns out." Then he left, the stretcher with Arista floating gracefully after him.

He met Citrine down by the lake, where the dragon opened a portal that led to a secret clearing in the Forbidden Forest. Drake was already waiting for him to arrive, and they took Arista through together, one on each side of her.

They walked out of the fiery gateway into a pretty forest glade, a glade occupied by several dragons. Most were members of the Dragon Council, including Sardonyx, Tiger Eye, and Sunstrike. Fireflash was there, as was Topaz, and three dragons they did not know. Together with Citrine, they numbered nine, three times three, a potent number.

"Welcome, Severus and Drake, Dragonfriends, to our gathering," Sardonyx said formally, inclining his head respectfully. "Citrine has informed us of Healer Snape's need, and we eight are here to lend whatever support she needs. Our strength and magic are given willingly to you, Invoker Citrine, to use as you see fit to save Arista."

Citrine dipped her head in acknowledgement of the dragons' sacrifice. "Set her here, in the center of the circle, Severus," she instructed.

Snape obeyed, and the stretcher floated down until it touched the ground.

"And now, Severus and Drake, I ask that you open your mind to me," Citrine said. "By linking with me, you can add your strength to mine and with the power of your love, summon her home again."

"We will do whatever you require, Citrine," Severus said, dropping the shields over his mind, allowing the dragon access to his innermost thoughts.

Drake followed suit.

Both of them felt the dragon touch their mind, delicately, yet the contact was firm.

"Good, now kneel beside her and take one of her hands in yours. Touch is important." They did so and she came to stand directly over them, her green eyes whirling with golden sparks. She turned to her fellow dragons. "Hum a descant, if you please, my friends. Then give me what strength and magic you can."

The dragons began to hum, a melodic thrumming that made the bones of Severus and Drake throb in time to their tune. Then a golden glow emerged from each dragon and one by one they breathed a short spurt of flame, which Citrine gathered in her forefoot, a shimmering ball of magical power. "Power freely given and freely accepted," Citrine intoned. "Let this serve as a base for my working." She spoke a word in dragonspeech and the glowing ball was absorbed into her scales, making them sparkle with the light of a hundred suns. Then she began to sing softly, her head swaying back and forth, weaving her healing spell with her voice and her will.

Neither Snape nor Drake understood what she was singing, for her song was in the oldest language of all, that of the bronze dragon, who were the first creatures on earth to develop language. But the power in her song made the hairs on the back of their neck prickle.

Then Citrine inhaled sharply and blew out a cloud of lavender mist shot through with myriad blue and gold bubbles that floated over Arista and enveloped her. Tendrils of the mist touched both the other wizards as well, and it felt cool and warm at the same time.

Citrine continued to sing, and her melody was more compelling now, summoning rather than soothing. _Call to h_er, she sent to Drake and Severus._ Let her know you are here, waiting for her._They obeyed, calling her with all of the will they possessed, putting all of the love and need they felt for her into their mental voices.

Citrine breathed another jet of violet mist over them and leaned down and touched the top of Arista's head with her tongue gently. "Healer Snape, I bid you awaken. I, Citrine, summon you back. Follow my song home, child."

Her singing increased, chanting the same phrases over and over in dragonspeech, which when translated, went something like this: "Come back, Healer Arista Eileen Snape. Your beloved and your friends call you. Walk the starry road back home."

A third time she breathed the violet mist over the sleeping magician, chanting the same phrases.

This time there was a definite reaction. Arista's eyelids fluttered. She opened her mouth, breathing in more of the violet mist, and coughed.

Citrine smiled toothily, pleased. "Good, child," she hummed. "Breathe deeply the Mist of Life and be healed. Open your eyes, Healer Snape and see who waits for you."

At her words, Arista's eyes opened, and at first they were confused, disoriented, bewildered. Then she turned her head slightly and saw Drake. Her eyes glowed with love. "Drake. I knew it was you," she said.

He grinned back at her, tears of immense relief trickling down his cheeks. "You know me then?"

"Of course I do. How could I not know my soulmate, who shares my heart?"

Then she smiled, turning her head to the other side and staring at her father.

"Dad. I thought I recognized you."

Severus smiled down at her, his eyes filling with tears. "Welcome home, my Arista."

Arista stared about her meeting Citrine's great green orbs. "Lady Citrine. You found me. I was lost, my mind was adrift in the mist and then you came and I followed your song back home again."

"Welcome back, Healer Snape. I only did what one Healer must do for another, young magician. As you saved my son, so now I save you."

"Thank you, lady," Arista said softly, feeling a gentle lassitude sweep over her. She found her eyes closing in spite of herself and before she knew it she was asleep once more, but unlike before, this was a true healing sleep, renewing and restoring.

"Arista!" Drake cried in alarm.

"Easy, young wizard," Citrine reproved quietly. "She is merely sleeping, as is proper after such an ordeal."

"Sleeping? But that's all she's been doing for the past day or two," Drake objected.

"That was no true sleep. This one is. She will awake fully restored in mind and body, Mr. Lockwood, tomorrow afternoon or thereabouts," the dragonhealer declared. "Might I suggest you follow her example?"

"But I'm not tired," he said grumpily.

"Are you not?"

"No," he started to say, then yawned and fell asleep in mid-denial.

Severus peered worriedly at the boy, who had toppled over to lie next to Arista, his hand still entwined with hers. "Is he okay, Citrine?"

"Fine, Defense Master. But he, like yourself, has given unsparingly of his magic today and needs to rest."

"But what about Arista?" Severus protested sleepily, for he too was feeling the effects of assisting Citrine.

"Sleep, Severus Snape. She will be watched by us, never fear." Citrine said.

"If you're sure . . .?" Snape said, smothering a huge yawn. His eyes were so heavy, it was impossible to keep them open any longer . . .He slumped over, asleep before his head touched the grass.

Citrine nodded in approval. "Good. A nice long sleep is what they all need."

Fireflash shot his mother a suspicious look. "Did you magic them somehow, Mom?"

The golden bronze blushed a faint blue-green. "A side effect of the Mist of Life on human wizards is to give them a dreamless sleep. They were all breathing it in, it couldn't be helped. Besides, they could all use it, for I'd wager my scales that neither of them got much sleep last night. Sleep is the physician of pain."

"Sure, Mom, whatever you say," Fireflash said. "I'm just happy Arista's gonna be all right."

"So am I, son. It was touch and go for a few minutes there," the dragonhealer admitted softly. "But her love for her family and for Drake was too strong to be denied and she found her way back for them. Which is how it should be."

Then she curled half of her massive body around the three peacefully slumbering wizards and said, "I think I too shall take a little nap. Keep watch, my children." The she put her head on her forefeet and fell asleep.

Fireflash exchanged rueful glances with his sister. "Damn. How is it we always end up with guard duty? We'll miss all the fighting with Voldemort."

Topaz sighed. "No rest for the wicked, big brother. Besides, I think she meant it as an honor."

Fireflash rolled his eyes. "An honor I could have done without," he hissed, but he settled down soon enough when Sardonyx glared at him in reproof.

"Don't be a warmonger, son," the Dragon Lord said. Then he turned to the other dragons and said, "Let us fly, my friends. They're going to need out claws and flame against the one who names himself the Dark Lord."

One by one, the other dragons spread their wings and flew back through the portal at Sardonyx's bidding, leaving Fireflash and Topaz to guard the sleeping Citrine and the three wizards.

**So now you know why it was so important that Arista saved the mermaid Amlioranee back in the Very Best Thing!**

**How did you like the way the bronzes helped her?**


	21. Quietly Into the Night

**Quietly Into the Night**

Arista, Severus, and Drake slept all through the rest of that day and night and far into the afternoon of the next one, and thus they missed the second great Battle of Hogwarts. Dumbledore, Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to the school just before Voldemort himself arrived with the remainder of his army.

The bronze dragons, led by the incomparable Sardonyx, attacked the tail end of Voldemort's army before the Dark Lord knew what was happening, and destroyed a third of it. It was said later that you could have heard Voldemort's howl of rage all the way across the Atlantic at the unexpected guerilla attack. He was forced to retreat into the Forbidden Forest, where he lost more followers to the wrath of the centaurs and the acromantulas and other beasts, who were pledged to his destruction. He then moved onward to Hogsmeade, taking over the sleepy little village and making his new headquarters the Shrieking Shack.

He then sent a force to attack the school, led by Bellatrix, Dolores Umbridge, Pettigrew and his pet snake, Nagini. None of them ever returned.

They were caught by a roving patrol of Hogwarts defenders which included Kit, Flick, Neville, Ginny, and Hathaway. Much to the Death Eaters surprise, the five wizards did not run in fear, but stood their ground and fought them like true combat masters.

Neville took on Bellatrix, the murderous witch who had tortured his parents into insanity eighteen years before. "Today's the day you die, witch!" he snarled.

Bellatrix laughed at him. "Think so? You're pathetic, boy, just like your parents! But I had fun with them anyhow!" she cried, giggling madly.

"Have fun with this then, Bellatrix!" Neville shouted, then he cast Draco Inferio at her, and was rewarded with her horrified shriek just before her body caught fire and was consumed in an instant. "Hope you enjoyed that, you twisted thing!"

"Naughty, naughty, Mr. Longbottom," Umbridge scolded, shaking a reproving finger at Neville. "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to hurt a lady?"

"No, she didn't, Umbridge, because she spent my childhood in a padded room," Neville snapped, whirling to face this new foe.

"Pity," Umbridge spat. "Because now you'll learn that lesson the hard way." She pointed her wand at Neville. "Crucio!"

Neville fell to the ground, yelling in agony.

Umbridge smiled nastily.

"That'll be enough out of you, you miserable old hag!" Kit growled, coming up behind the smirking witch on cat's feet. "You're not High Inquisitor anymore, Umbridge, and we're not your students, to punish however you please."

"Are you not, Mr. Ambrosius?" she purred, jerking about to face him. "I serve a new master now, one who has finally given me the respect and the power that I deserve."

"You've sold your soul to the devil, Umbridge," Kit said. "Hope it's warm in hell." His wand appeared in his hand as if by magic, and before Umbridge could react he had slammed her with the Withering Death curse, which was one Flick had taught him.

Withering Death was similar to the Mummy Curse, but its victim died a bit more slowly, aging at a spectacular rate, until she shriveled up and died.

Kit looked faintly sick afterwards, but he wasn't given much time to dwell on the fact that he'd caused Umbridge's death, because Nagini struck at him from behind.

"Excelsio major!" came a cry from the side, and Kit found himself enveloped in a bubble of magical force.

Nagini's fangs smashed into it, dripping with venom, but she could not penetrate the wall of force and bounced off it, hissing in fury and shaking her massive head.

"Yo, Medusa's sister!" Flick called, throwing a concussive force globe at the snake. "How 'bout picking on someone your own size?"

The small golden globe struck the ground right in front of the massive snake, blowing a hole in the ground and partially in Nagini as well.

The injured reptile tried to crawl away, but Flick sprang in front of her, blocking her way. "Now, Scaly Baby, you can't be leaving the party too early. Dance with me awhile, pretty poison."

Nagini coiled to strike, but she was several seconds slower due to the gaping wounds in her side, and Flick avoided her strike. He vaulted right over her head, landing on her back. "Back home in Texas, we call this riding the bullsnake. And I just happen to be an expert at it," he said, drawing his sword and stabbing down with it three times. His first cut severed the snake's spinal cord. His second took her in the eye, as she was partially turned towards him, and his third chopped off her head.

"And that's how we deal with rattlers in Texas," he said, grimacing at the blood all over his uniform. Then he hopped off the snake's body, looking about for his next opponent.

"Flick, quit fooling around with that reptile and help me," Ginny called, having been backed into a corner by two necromancers.

"On my way, babe!" Flick said, springing to her rescue. "Hey, ugly, the lady ain't interested," he growled, seizing the necromancer by the back of his robes and spinning him around. Then he punched the dark wizard in the face so hard he was thrown several feet into the air and into a tree. "Now don't bother her anymore, got me?"

The Death Eater did not answer, for he was dead.

Ginny finished off her own enemy, then looked at Flick and said, "I can't believe I just did that."

Flick smiled at her. "I can. You were trained by one of the best, weren't you?"

Slowly, Ginny nodded. "Yeah, and what he taught me just saved my life. Guess I'm going to have to thank him, one of these days."

"You do that," Flick nodded in approval. "For now, let's finish our sector." And he led them around the western perimeter of the castle again.

Pettigrew, the coward, quickly shifted into his rat form and scurried through the castle unseen, as per his lord's instructions. He was to get close to Harry Potter and kill him. But he never got the chance. For he was discovered by the two cats, Mrs. Norris and Comfrey. Comfrey sensed immediately that he was something dark and dangerous, and stalked him, inviting her companion to join in. The two felines double-teamed Pettigrew, chasing the panicked sorcerer along the corridors until he lost all sense of direction, and then Mrs. Norris herded him into a trap, where Comfrey waited with claws and teeth, invisible. Pettigrew would have been able to avoid the attack by shifting back to his human shape, but he never saw it coming.

The cat, unbelievably swift due to her fairy cat ancestry, sprang upon him and broke his neck with a single bite. She shook her head in disgust and proceeded to groom herself afterwards, saying to Mrs. Norris with a twitch of her whiskers, _Nasty thing, he left an awful taste in my mouth. But at least he won't be bothering Arista or Sev again, wicked creature._

_Or my Argus_, purred Mrs. Norris. _A job well done, Comfrey_.

Thus passed Peter Pettigrew, unmourned, the ignominious victim of a cat's game of stalk and hide.

Unknown to Flick, Voldemort's pet snake had housed one of the last remaining Horcruxes, and with her destruction died another piece of the Dark Lord's soul.

The final Horcrux, which resided in Harry Potter, was destroyed the next afternoon, when Harry met Voldemort and sacrificed himself to destroy the last Horcrux. He was later resurrected by the power of the Deathly Hallows, a trio of magical items that enabled their user to conquer death once. Thus Harry became the Boy Who Lived Twice, and fulfilled the prophecy set forth by Trelawney so long ago, that he would indeed be Voldemort's doom.

With the destruction of the last Horcrux, Voldemort was now vulnerable to a true death, and Harry gave him one, using Sectumsempra. He cast it properly this time, nonverbally, blocking Voldemort's mind probe with Occlumency just as Snape had taught him. The Dark Lord was caught totally off guard and died swiftly. A fitting death for one such as he, and not one he would ever return from.

It was a day that would live forever in Hogwarts history, the day the Dark Lord was defeated once and for all. But despite the triumph of good over evil, sorrow followed on the heels of victory.

Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard of the age, was dying. Over the summer he had destroyed one of the Horcruxes, set in a family ring of Tom Riddle's, but in so doing he had set in motion a deadly curse, one for which there was no counterspell. It was one that ate away at both the body and the magic within it, and was irreversible.

Dumbledore had known he was dying, he had gone to Severus first to see if his Potions Master could come up with a way to slow the curse for a time. Severus had given him a potion that stoppered death, but it lasted only a year at most.

All the time Dumbledore had been with Harry and his friends, helping them find the Horcruxes, he had been slowly failing, a little more each day, his body weakening and his magic fading.

Until he could no longer hide the symptoms and took to his bed, the black rot creeping over his arm and down his shoulder. When it reached his heart he would die.

Severus, Drake, and Arista awakened sometime in the early evening, returning to the castle along with Fireflash and Topaz, who were still a bit miffed at missing all the action. Until Sardonyx consoled the two dragons by taking them on a scouting mission, searching for any remaining Death Eaters hiding out near the forest or the castle grounds.

Meanwhile the three wizards entered the castle to find the students and faculty in a state of shock, for Dumbledore had just revealed to Minerva that he was dying and requested she tell the students.

"They have the right to know, and it would ease my mind greatly," he said, and Minerva could not refuse him.

No sooner had Arista crossed the threshold of the entrance hall, then Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed up to her.

"Arista! Thank God we found you," cried Hermione.

"You've got to heal Dumbledore!" panted Ron, his red hair sticking out every which way.

"He says he's dying, but you can save him, Arista!" Harry pleaded. "You can heal anyone."

Arista opened her mouth to reply, wanting to know what was wrong with the Headmaster, but her father cut her off.

"She can't heal the Headmaster, Potter. The curse he absorbed is irreversible."

"But sir!" protested Harry. "She healed the Longbottoms, and that was supposed to be impossible. So why can't she heal Professor Dumbledore?"

"I'm sorry, but this is one instance when Arista's healing talent won't do any good," Snape said heavily. "Albus knew that before he returned this year, when he came to me and requested a potion to halt his own death for a time."

"At least let me try, Dad," Arista argued. "You don't know for sure until I examine him."

Professor Snape looked doubtful. "You've only just come back from being half-dead yourself, Arista. Do you think it's wise to use your magic this soon?"

"I feel fine, Dad. Perfectly healthy and my magic's back up to full strength too. Citrine said I'm out of danger."

"Please, Professor Snape!" cried Hermione. "You never know, Arista might be able to pull off another miracle."

"Go ahead," Severus sighed reluctantly. "You will anyhow, even if I forbade you, so I won't even try. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Okay, Dad," his daughter said, giving him a wry smile. Then they followed Harry, Hermione, and Ron to the infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey was doing her best to make the Headmaster's remaining hours as comfortable as possible.

"Hello, ma'am," Arista greeted her. "What's the diagnosis?"

Poppy spun around so fast she nearly fell, one hand going to her heart. "Merlin save me! Arista? Is that really you, child?"

"Uh-huh. I'm too stubborn to die, don't you know that?" she said, coming forward to hug her teacher, who was weeping softly.

"I tried . . .but my talent wasn't enough . . .I can't believe you're actually here, walking and talking . . ."

"I had a little help from a dragonhealer and a mermaid," Arista told her, sending her comforting feelings of reassurance to ease the guilt the medi-witch still felt. "Lucky for me. Now, let me see what I can do for Professor Dumbledore." She turned to face Dumbledore, who was resting quietly in the hospital bed, in a light doze.

Poppy stood aside, not even bothering to protest, knowing that the girl would have to discover the truth for herself.

Arista laid her hand on Dumbledore's good arm, allowing her healing sense to diagnose the state of his body and the nature of the curse he was suffering. What she found horrified her. Her father had been right, the old wizard was indeed on borrowed time.

The curse had spread throughout Dumbledore's body, infecting every cell in his body with its insidious poison. It was like the worst forms of cancer, and it had been active too long for her to free him of it. Even if she did manage to cancel the curse, rendering it dormant, his body was too weak to fight off disease or infection, for his immune system had been compromised too badly. A cold would cause his death a surely as a virus.

At best she could delay the inevitable a mere week longer, but she could not prevent his death. _Good God, I'd have to rebuild him from the ground up, and even then the curse could awaken and destroy all that I've done. Dad was right, blast it. This time, not even my talent can fix him. This isn't like mending broken bones or organs, this is like my trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon. _

Dumbledore opened his eyes and looked at her. "Hello, Arista. I thought I might find you here, child." His eyes met hers unwaveringly, and she saw his death in them.

"Professor, I can try if you want me to," she began, trying to deny the inevitable.

"No, child. Don't waste your talent on me. I've known for a long time now that death awaited me. He and I are old friends, you might say. Very old friends."

Arista swallowed hard, unable to speak. Words were not necessary, however. Dumbledore understood that he was beyond even her great gift.

"Why aren't you doing anything?" Harry cried.

"Because there is nothing she can do, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "It is my time."

"No! Fix him, Arista! You can do it if anyone can."

"I would, but the curse is too widespread . . .I'd have to rebuild him from the ground up, and even then . . .it'd be no good . . ."

"What are you saying?" Ron whispered, his face tight with grief. "That there's no hope at all? None?"

Arista nodded sadly. "I'm sorry. But this is one time when my magic can't heal the damage that's been done. The curse can't be cancelled, and it'll destroy whatever I repair as quickly as I can mend it. There's nothing I can do."

"I don't believe it!" Harry insisted. "You're the damn miracle Healer, Snape, now Heal him, for Godsake."

Arista stared at him, tears glittering on her lashes. "D'you think I would let him die, if there was _any _chance I could save him, Harry? But this time is different. Everything is breaking down, he's like a tree infested with wood rot and the best I can do is make him comfortable. I wish it were otherwise . . .you don't know how much I wish that, Harry . . ." She reached out to touch him, trying to ease his grief with her empathy.

But he drew away from her as if she were poisonous. "What good are you then?" he spat.

Arista flinched as if she'd been struck, then she turned and bolted from the room, unable to deal with the accusation in Harry's eyes, which mirrored her own feelings.

"You conceited little jackass!" Drake cried, feeling Arista's hurt as if it were his own. His temper ignited. He lunged for the other boy, grabbing him and slamming him up against the wall. "How dare you talk to her like that? I ought beat you senseless, Potter!"

"Mr. Lockwood!" Poppy cried. "Put him down, I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my infirmary. Show some respect, both of you!"

Drake released Harry, looking ashamed of himself. "Sorry. But next time watch your mouth, okay?"

Harry rubbed his throat, it was red from where his collar had cut into his neck. "I'm sorry too, I shouldn't have said that. But I was hoping . . ."

"Arista's only human, not a goddess, Potter," Severus cut in, giving Harry a very severe frown. "I know you tend to overlook that little fact when it comes to her healing talent, but the fact remains that not even magic can cure everything."

"What about the bronze dragons? Maybe they could do something." Harry said, wincing at his teacher's glare.

But Dumbledore shook his head. "I asked them already, Harry my boy. Their Healer, Citrine, told me much the same thing as Arista. This was a long time coming. I knew before the year began that I would not live to see the end of it. Nothing comes without sacrifice, as you well know. I knew when I began to search for the Horcruxes that death would be the price. It is one I pay willingly." He patted the boy on the shoulder. "Don't mourn me, Harry, for I go to a far better place than I have ever been before. A place of dreams . . ."

" . . .where the ones you love await you on the far shore," Severus finished gently.

"Ah, yes, Severus, you would know best," Albus said, giving the Potions Master a smile. "I will not walk alone into the night, will I?"

"No, Albus. There will be a guide waiting on the starry road for you, my friend. The way is not long and it is always summer there and those that have gone before greet you and you need never fear suffering or sorrow again in that blessed realm."

"Good. That was what I thought."

Hermione was sobbing into Ron's shoulder, and Ron was looking as if he was about to start bawling too.

"There now, Hermione," Albus said, coughing. "No need for tears, child. I am so weary . . .so very tired . . .my body is telling me that it needs to rest now, it has lived a very long life, far longer than I ever expected . . ." he grimaced as a spasm of pain shot through him.

"Drake, fetch Arista," Severus ordered. "She can make his last moments peaceful."

Drake rose immediately and went to find Arista. He didn't have to go far, for she was huddled on the bench just down the hall, crying into a handkerchief. "Hey," he said, seating himself beside her and putting an arm about her. "Potter's an idiot. Nobody expects you to perform miracles."

Arista didn't respond for a moment. Then she said, "But I expect it of myself. I thought there was nothing I couldn't heal. After all, I'm the Girl Who Healed. Fireflash, my dad, the Longbottoms . . .I healed all of them, so why not Dumbledore, right? I was proud, Drake, too proud. I was used to having my own way when it came to my patients. Poppy always warned me that someday there would come a time when I'd have to surrender to death, but I always thought she was mistaken. She wasn't."

"Nobody's perfect, Arista. Not me, or you, not even your dad. Or Dumbledore either. My dad said once after he'd lost a dog we were treating that the hardest part of his job wasn't putting an animal down, it was admitting that he couldn't save it in the first place and then making the merciful choice afterwards."

"He was right. Time I stopped feeling sorry for myself," she declared briskly. "One thing I know I can do is make his last hours free of pain, and let him go quietly into the night, with dignity." She rose to her feet, wiping her face with the handkerchief.

"How did you know that was why I came out here?" Drake muttered.

"I'm your soulmate, that's how. You can't really have secrets from me, you know."

"I do now. Come on, he didn't look so good when I left."

They returned to Dumbledore's bedside.

"Arista, I'm sorry," Harry began, but she waved him to silence.

"It's okay. Grief makes you say things you don't mean," she said. Then she looked at Dumbledore. "I can't cure you, sir, but I can let you relax and enjoy what time you have left. May I?"

"Please do."

Arista laid her hands on him, and the white glow spread from her fingers, covering the dying man with a white radiance.

When it faded, Albus sighed in relief. "Thank you, Arista. I feel like my old self again, so to speak. Will someone fetch me some parchment and ink, please? I need to leave some last minute instructions and such."

All of them jumped to do his bidding, much to his amusement.

Harry came back first, however, and Albus took the quill and parchment he handed him and began to write quickly.

Ron beckoned Arista off to the side. "How long?"

"Five hours is all I could give him. After that he'll go to sleep . . .and then . . ."

"That soon?"

"He's been fighting this for a long time now, Ron. His body's just not up to it anymore, you heard him," Hermione reminded him gently.

Dumbledore finished writing, then beckoned Snape over to him. "I have . . . a request to make of you, Severus."

"Anything," Severus said quickly, blinking hard.

"You too, old friend?" Dumbledore said softly. "Death is the last great adventure, you know."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I won't miss you."

"Really, Severus? Miss my little lectures, my crazy quests, my prying into your private thoughts?"

"Maybe not that so much, Albus," he admitted. "What did you want to ask me?"

Albus held up the paper. "This is an official appointment, effective upon my death. It is a Headmaster's prerogative to choose his successor, if he is of sound mind on the eve of his retirement, which I am. I have signed it here and witnessed it as well," he indicated Poppy's signature next to his own.

Snape gave the paper a cursory glance. "Are you asking for my support of your choice, Albus? You ought to know that I will uphold your decision, I trust your judgement."

Dumbledore smiled. "I'm glad to hear that, Severus. For I've named you as my successor. When I pass, you Severus Snape, shall be Hogwarts' new Headmaster."

Snape looked as if Dumbledore had just slammed his head into the wall. "Oh, good God, Albus. You can't be serious. _Me,_ replace you? Not on my best day."

"I disagree. You are the only one I trust to do the job right, Severus. Once I am gone, the school will need a person of integrity and purpose at the helm. Minerva is good, but she doesn't enjoy being an administrator. You do. You know how to get things done, Severus, and you also can make certain that whoever is appointed Minister of Magic doesn't run roughshod over school policy. And teach the students those same values you embody, old friend."

Snape was shaking his head. "Albus, I think you're making a mistake . . ."

"Humor an old man then, Severus. Take the position for a year, as a trial run, then if you find you cannot abide it, choose a successor and resign. But right now the country is still in chaos, and I know we didn't get all of Riddle's followers. Hogwarts is still vulnerable, but only if you refuse to accept my proposal."

Severus sighed. "You're a clever old fox, old man," he said, giving in. "All right, I agree. I'll be Headmaster for a year. Then I'll re-evaluate and resign if I need to."

"Good, good. I promise you won't regret it."

"Famous last word, Albus."

Albus chuckled at the other's wit. "Not quite, my friend. Will you do me the favor of calling the rest of the staff? I would like to speak them."

"Right away, sir," said Severus.

Soon the rest of the faculty was gathered by the ailing wizard's bedside, where he told them about the appointment and bid them farewell. All of them left in tears, and Sybill fainted and had to be carried away by Pomona. None of them objected to Dumbledore's appointment.

There followed brief sessions with nearly every student in the castle, as Dumbledore wanted to bid them farewell personally. He spent the longest time with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Arista remained nearby, occasionally touching him to relieve the pain from the curse. His left arm was nearly all black.

He was sorry to hear of Draco's betrayal, for once he had hoped that the boy might turn on his father and become better than what he had been groomed to be. Sadly, that hope was now in vain. Severus told him that Minerva and the rest of the staff had voted to have Draco expelled.

"He'll be watched afterwards," Severus told him grimly. "It was against my better judgement to let him go, but I have no legal right to hold him here. But I shall keep a sharp eye on him and if he tries anything shady, I'll nail his hide to a wall for good and all. He's Lucius' son through and through."

"Under the circumstances, you can do no less," was all he said. "But the evil that Riddle represented is gone, for now. Watch over my children, Severus."

"I will, sir. You have my word on it." Severus promised, and Albus winked at him.

Then he closed his eyes and slipped into a deep and peaceful sleep from which he never awakened.

* * * * * * *  
They buried him at dawn the next day, just as the sun had crested the horizon. The staff had constructed a beautiful marble tomb for the body of their most respected and dedicated Headmaster. Over a hundred people came to the funeral, not counting the faculty of Hogwarts and the students. Albus Dumbledore was buried with his wand clasped on his breast and draped over him was Harry's Invisibility Cloak.

Severus was supposed to do the eulogy, as the next Headmaster, but he allowed Harry to speak instead, recognizing the bond the younger man had shared with Dumbledore was that of a father and son, and knowing as well that Albus would have wanted it that way.

After Harry's remarks, Fawkes the phoenix took wing, soaring high into the sky, singing in a heartbreaking sweet melody, blazing like a fiery comet across the sky, sparks falling like rain from the scarlet and gold plumage to shower those watching with droplets of golden light.

The phoenix circled the tomb seven times, trilling loudly. Then it rose higher and higher until it was lost from sight.

"He goes to prepare the way," Severus murmured to Harry, putting an arm about him. "As I told him, you always have a guide."

"Fawkes knows the way?" Harry asked, wiping his eyes.

"He is a phoenix, Harry. He has made the journey countless times. No one knows the way better. Goodbye, Albus, my friend. Follow your phoenix to your final reward. No one deserves it more, but I shall miss you. We shall not see your like again in this world." Then he drew his wand and waved it once over the marble tomb, sealing it. "Sleep well, Albus. I shall keep my promise, never fear."

Then the new Headmaster of Hogwarts School led the procession of mourners back to the Great Hall for the funeral feast, the final farewell of the phoenix's song echoing in his ears.

**Yes, I know this was a horribly sad chapter, but it needed to be here. Personally, I like it better than the Snape kills Dumbledore version. And this way Snape gets to be Headmaster in a normal way, not ruling over a bunch of terrified kids enslaved to the Death eaters.**

**One more chapter left, but it's a happy one, promise!**

**How did you like the way all the Death eaters got theirs? Interesting twists, right? How about Pettigrew's death? And Umbridge? I loved giving her the axe! And how about Harry's defeat of Voldemort?**


	22. EpilogueThe Wedding

**Epilogue--The Wedding**

_Three years later  
Pennsylvania, USA_

"Ready, Dad?" Arista asked, looking inquiringly at her father, who was fidgeting nervously in his dress robes.

Severus slanted a wry look at her. "I ought to be asking _you_ that question, you know." He took her arm in his.

She laughed up at him. "You never ask questions you already know the answers to. Except in your classroom. I've been ready for this moment three years ago. But it was worth the wait."

"Be sure to tell Drake that." Severus said, smiling tenderly down at her. "Be happy, Arista mine."

"I will, Dad. As happy as you and Mom were." She flicked the veil back from her face and kissed him on the cheek. "She's watching, you know."

"Of course she is, Arista Eileen. Do you think she'd miss her only daughter's wedding?" Severus said, and brushed several tears from his eyes. "Damn!" he muttered. "I promised myself I wouldn't do that."

"It's okay, everybody's father cries at his daughter's wedding. Mel says hers cried like a baby." She gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "Don't worry, Dad. You won't have time to miss me, you'll be too busy arranging Trish's wedding next," Arista told him, grinning impishly.

"After which I'll be broke," he sighed.

"Too bad you didn't have sons, huh?" she teased gently.

"They would have been a lot less trouble than daughters," he agreed, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Funny, Dad."

"Hey, you asked. Next time, don't ask a question—" he began.

"Unless you want to know the answer," she finished. "I've heard that one already, Professor."

"One thing I won't miss is your smart mouth," he shot back.

"Like father, like daughter," she returned, and grinned cheekily at him. He opened his mouth to argue with her, then shut it when he realized she was right, the impudent minx. "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too," he said. "Even when I want to strangle you," he added, smirking.

"I'm gonna tell Trish to elope to Vegas," Arista threatened. "Saves you money and her aggravation."

"Saves _her_ aggravation?" he repeated incredulously. "What about me? With all the aggravation you two have given me, I'm surprised my hair isn't all white by now," he said, touching the white lock emphatically.

The strains of a wedding march drifted through the tall wooden doors. She straightened and tossed her veil over her head. "There's our cue."

Severus tucked her arm in his and opened the tall wooden doors leading into the church. He was wearing his dress robes, the same ones he'd worn when he'd christened baby Amelia Flynn. This once, he was not using a cane, for he'd flatly refused to walk his daughter down the aisle leaning on a crutch like an old man. He'd swallowed a pain relieving draft just before coming to the church and he led Arista down the aisle confidently, barely favoring the leg at all.

"You look just like your mother," he whispered in her ear as they walked. On either side of the aisle, people smiled and threw rose petals. "Beautiful beyond compare."

Arista smiled up at him, blinking back tears of her own. "Thanks, Dad. I think that's the best compliment I ever got. Although they say all brides are beautiful on their wedding day."

"Maybe so, but none of them can hold a candle to my daughter."

At the altar, Father O'Brien awaited them, he was the wizard-priest who had officiated at Amelia's baptism. Drake was waiting for them, dressed superbly in a knockout tux and tailored dress robes that had probably cost him half his salary as newly inducted Dark Hunter. Not that he cared. He was only going to get married once, after all. He had eyes only for his new bride, drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst does a pool of spring water.

Arista's eyes met his, and the connection between them flared like an electric current, so strong that even the most unmagical Muggle present felt it.

Severus swallowed hard upon seeing it, for just so had he looked upon Amelia, once upon a summer's day, long ago. It was ever so with soulbonded pairs. Their love was a tangible thing, so strong that it transcended death.

They made their way to the two steps of the altar, and there Severus halted, turning his daughter to face him, and bending slightly to kiss her gently on the cheek in farewell. "Be happy, Arista Eileen."

"I will," she said, kissing him back. She embraced him, hugging him for a long moment. "You're not really losing me, you know. You're just getting some much needed peace and quiet. And Drake as your new son."

"True." He released her as Drake came up to them, and Severus placed his daughter's hand in the Hunter's. "Take care of her, Drake. She's the best part of me and Amelia."

"I know that, Severus. And I'll love her for all of forever." Drake promised, taking Arista's hand gently in his own and grinning at her. In his smile was all the love in his heart.

It matched the smile she gave him in return exactly.

Then they turned away to mount the steps.

Severus stepped back three paces, going to stand behind Kit, who was the best man, Flick, and the twin ringbearers, Drew and Nick. _There goes my baby, he thought sadly. It seems like only yesterday I was sending her off on the train to Hogwarts_.

_She'll be fine, Sev_, Amelia whispered in his head. _She's like you, beloved, at home wherever she goes, for her home is where her heart is. And that's with Drake, who'll cherish her like you did me._  
He could feel his wife's presence then, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. He glanced sidelong out of the corner of his eye, and to his utter shock he saw Amelia standing next to him, smiling brightly.

He froze, too astonished to form a coherent thought.

_Why so surprised, Sev? You were the one who said I'd never miss her wedding day._

Yes, but even I never . . .you really ARE here, aren't you, Amy?

Yes, dear heart. But only you and Arista can see me. Nothing could keep me away, not on this day of all days. Oh Sev, she's so beautiful, my baby girl.

Just like her mother, he thought, and his hand clasped Amelia's.

_But she's got her father's eyes, those wonderful dark expressive eyes, that enchanted me from the first moment I looked into them._  
Severus blushed slightly. _My eyes are my best feature._

Not by half, love. I love everything about you, but especially your eyes. I'm glad Arista inherited them.

Me too. Better my eyes than my nose, he thought, his mouth quirking in a wry smile.

_I love your nose, Snape. It reminds me of a fa_lcon.

Severus looked at her askance.

_Don't believe me, mister? Here, I'll prove it_. And then she kissed him on the tip of it.

He shivered, for her touch was ecstasy and agony, ice and fire, but he wouldn't have traded it for anything. Flesh or spirit, her touch electrified him, and he craved it the way an alcoholic did a drink.

_Amelia, good God in heaven_!

She grinned impishly at him._ D'you believe me now, Sev?_

Yes, but please don't do that again. I'm not stone, you know.

Okay, I'll behave.

That's a first.

Stop it, Sev. Or else I'll kiss you again.  
_I'd like nothing better, as you well know_. Then he sighed inwardly. _However, this is Arista's day, not ours._

May she have the time and the happiness we never could, Amelia wished fervently, gazing at the couple, her eyes sparkling with what would have been tears, if ghosts could cry.

The ceremony was almost over, Father O'Brien called for the rings, which were brought up proudly by the twins. Drake took Arista's hand in his, put the gold band on her finger and said clearly, "With this ring, I thee wed, Arista Eileen Snape. I am yours, in sickness and in health, through good times and bad, I give you my heart, for all of forever. Do you accept it?"

"I do," answered Arista. She took the other ring from Nick. "With this ring, I thee wed, Drake Robert Lockwood. I am yours, in sickness and in health, through good times and bad, I give you my heart, for all of forever. Do you accept it."

"I do," Drake said.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," said Father O'Brien, sketching the sign of the cross over the couple, it glistened in the air, touched with magic. "Go on then, son, kiss the bride!" he urged.

Drake needed no encouragement. Their kiss was the stuff of dreams, and everyone who saw it shivered with unmitigated passion and joy, for Arista was projecting her emotions unknowingly.

"Now _that's _what I call a kiss!" Kit remarked, grinning knowingly.

"You taking notes?" Mel called, eyeing her husband suggestively.

Kit blushed. Then he said, "Where d'you think _he _learned it from, Mel?"

Mel snickered, then composed herself when Trish elbowed her in the ribs.

Next to them, Trina, the bridesmaid, and Marietta, the flower girl, were giggling uncontrollably. Despite the four years difference in their ages, the two girls had become fast friends since meeting each other last week during the wedding rehearsals.

"Do grown-ups always behave like this at a wedding?" whispered Marietta to Trina.

Trina shrugged. "Got me. This is the first wedding I've ever been in. But it sure is funny, the way they act over a little kiss."

"That's grown-ups for you," Marietta stated, then they both started laughing again, until Trish hushed them.

"Bossy," Marietta said, and stuck her tongue out at her cousin when her back was turned. Then she glanced about guiltily.

But no one had seen save her uncle, who shook a reproving finger at her and mouthed the words, "Behave, minx!"

The irrepressible scamp knew better than to disobey Severus and she flashed him an apologetic stare then turned around and folded her hands over her basket filled with rose petals, an innocent flower girl once more.

_Lord, Sev! She's something else, my niece_. Amelia said, laughing behind her hand.

_Tell me about it. She's a little scamp, my Marietta. But I love her anyway, the imp._

She reminds me of myself at that age. Mischief squared.

My thoughts exactly.  
Arista and Drake turned around to walk back up the aisle.

For a single instant Arista's eyes met Amelia's, and she gasped.

_Congratulations, sweetheart. I wish you every happiness_, Amelia sent.

_Thanks, Mom_, Arista sent back, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. _I knew you'd make it._  
_Wouldn't miss it for the world, baby. I love you_. Amelia blew her daughter a kiss. _Goodbye, Arista mine. Love your new husband with everything you've got, like I love your dad_. She turned to Severus, who was staring at her pleadingly. _I have to go now, Sev. But you know we'll meet again someday, my love. Remember me_.

_Always, Amelia Snape_.

Then she was gone in a cloud of golden sparkles, traveling the starry road back to the blessed realm to await her beloved at heaven's gate.

* * * * * *  
The reception was held at a large hall somewhere south of the Poconos, with three large fireplaces for those guests travelling by Floo powder and a nearby portal for the newlyweds, who were flown in on dragonback by Fireflash. The rest of the bridal party and Severus were flown by Topaz and Sunstrike, who considered it a singular honor to fly the former Headmaster to his destination.

The dragons were made welcome at the party, Fireflash sang along with the band, and Topaz and Sunstrike spent the evening chatting pleasantly with some of the guests from Britain, mostly Drake's relatives, who had never seen a bronze dragon before. Several of them had remarked on the huge size of the hall, wondering why it was so large, until they met the dragons.

After dancing the required father-daughter dance with Arista, to Tim McGraw's _My Little Girl,_ Severus sat talking to Robin and Valerie Lockwood, Drake's parents. The pain-relieving potion he'd drunk earlier was starting to wear off, and he needed to sit down for awhile before the leg stiffened up too much. _I must be getting old, if one dance can make my leg feel like a block of wood,_ he thought, concealing a wince and surreptitiously massaging it under the table.

Out on the dance floor, Drake and Arista, Trish and Flick, and Mel and Kit were twirling to a fast bit of rock and roll, having the time of their lives, as were most of the other guests. Many old alumni from Hogwarts were there, including Harry Potter, his new wife Ginny, Ron and Hermione, also newlyweds, and the Weasley twins, Fred and George as well as Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom.

All of the Hogwarts crowd was dancing lively, though no one could best Drake and Arista, who'd been the recipient of several lessons from Drake's mom Val, who was once a dance instructor.

Arista had bustled up the train of her gorgeous white gown studded with crystals and seed pearls so she could move without fear of treading on it. Her auburn hair blazed in the mageglobes' light like a beacon, for she had removed her veil for the reception. She was wearing her mother's locket, a blue garter, and a pair of Trish's diamond earrings to complete the old good luck saying of something borrowed (earrings), something blue (garter), something old (locket), and something new (dress). She'd also had on a pair of fancy Prada heels, but had since kicked them off so she could dance quicker.

"Uh oh!" Fred teased, eyeing her stocking clad feet. "Snape's taking her shoes off. You know what that means, George?"

"Yeah, it means Neville better not step on her toes tonight," George answered, smirking.

"Uh, yeah, but it also means she's gonna to dance the rest of us into the ground," Fred warned.

"Except Drake," Mel snickered. "He won't let her, his pride won't permit it."

Fred raised an eyebrow. "That true, Lockwood?"

Drake shrugged. "Well . . .since it's her wedding day . . .I'll let her win."

Arista elbowed him in the ribs. "Like blazes you will, love!"

Drake gave her a sheepish grin, and George nudged Fred and hissed, "Uh oh, trouble in paradise. Their first row and they've only been married, what, three hours?"

"Troublemakers!" Ginny scolded. "The two of you are impossible. No wonder no woman has asked you to marry them."

The twins exchanged stunned glances. "Untrue!" they chorused. "We've had plenty of dates."

"Really?" their sister said. " Name two girls."

"Uh . . ."

"Fine pair you two are, can't even remember the names of your own dates," Ginny snorted. "Don't pay any attention to them, Drake. They're just jealous."

Drake chuckled, beaming. "So's every man here tonight, I think. Except my father and Severus, that is." And he gave Arista such a look of tenderness and love that she immediately quit being annoyed with him and smiled at him.

The band began to play an old Italian dance tune—the tarantella, which had its roots in ancient Rome, and was a traditional dance at every Amarotti wedding. Harry looked at Ron. "Uh, I don't know this one, do you?"

Ron shook his head. "No, I don't know half of them, Harry. I just let Hermione lead, mostly, so I don't look like an utter jackass."

"Smart of you," Harry muttered. "Maybe I ought to try that."

But Arista, Drake, Trish, Mel, and half the other Amarottis had gathered in a large circle, linking their arms together. "C'mon, Harry and Ron!" they beckoned them to join the circle.

"But we don't know how to dance this one!" Ron sputtered.

"It's a piece of cake, mate!" laughed Kit. "Look, even Marietta can do it!" he indicated Arista's seven-year-old cousin, who was standing next to Trina, grinning.

Ron looked at Harry, who was being tugged into the circle by an eager Ginny. "Uh . . ."

"Oh, Ron, for Godsakes!" his wife muttered, giving him a Look. "Get over here!"

"Yes, dear," he groaned and joined the circle. "Bloody hell, Lockwood, but couldn't you pick some normal music?"

"Calm down, Weasley," Drake soothed. "This is an easy one, just follow Arista and me and do what we do."

"Oh sure! Follow you two, the two best dancers in the whole bloody place, saving your mum, I'll bet," Ron rolled his eyes, then tried to imitate Drake and Arista's graceful skipping dance. The two twirled about each other then parted to face each other and do a kind of jig, reminding Ron of a happy spider. (Indeed the name tarantella means tarantula in Italian). Next thing he knew, he was being pulled back into a large circle and dancing in a huge ring about the bride and groom, who then bowed gracefully and surrendered the spotlight to Mel and Kit, who were also not bad at dancing.

Harry whistled, for once Mel had been known as a clumsy awkward girl while at school, given the awful name Staggering Melly by her nemesis Brittany Marsh. "Merlin, but who'd of thought Mel could dance like that?" he said to Ginny.

"This is nothing, Harry!" whooped Kit, who was panting trying to keep up with his wife, who could dance like a dervish. "You ought to see her dance the mambo!"

"Or the Macarena!" added Trish.

"But nobody beats her and Uncle Sev at the waltz," shouted Marietta, spinning in circles and giggling.

Harry nearly fell over in shock. "What?? You've gotta be kidding, Marietta! Mel and . . .and Headmaster_ Snape_?"

"He's _Director _Snape now, Harry," Marietta corrected. "And he and Mel dance like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire."

"Who?" Ron looked puzzled.

"Famous Muggle American movie stars and professional dancers," Drake explained.

Ron gaped at him. "You're putting me on, Lockwood!"

"Nuh-uh!" Marietta shook her head emphatically, her strawberry blond curls bouncing. "Just wait till they play a waltz, then you'll see. Uncle Sev and Mel waltz better than Anna and the King of Siam in The King and I."

"You watch too many old movies with my dad, minx!" Arista chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately. "But she's right. Even with that leg of his, Dad can still dance."

"Where'd he bloody learn?" Fred wondered.

"My mom, I think," Arista replied, then twirled away in Drake's arms.

"So, Kit, how's it feel to be working for the Auror Department?" Drake queried as they danced near him and Mel.

"Drake, that's a four letter word I don't mention in mixed company," his friend answered. "And that's all I'm gonna say, pal."

"Don't let him fool you, Drake, he loves his job," Mel said, tossing her black curls out of her face. Both of them were attached to the Aurors, Mel as a ghostwalker and Kit as a special advisor. She looked at Trish, who was dancing on their other side with the irrepressible Flick, her fiancee. "Trish, how was your first year teaching?"

"Uh . . .it was about what Severus told me to expect. Two parts exciting to three parts aggravating," she admitted with a smile. "Some of those four year olds can really get on your nerves. But I love it anyway."

"You teach, Trish?" Harry exclaimed.

"Yeah, preschool. It's something else."

"Following in old Snape's footsteps, eh?" Ron said.

Trish burst out laughing. "Uh, I guess you could say that, but I really can't imagine Severus teaching four-year-olds, can you?"

Hermione shook her head, also laughing. "He'd scare them half to death!"

"That's for sure. But at least he wouldn't have any behavior problems," Trish sighed. "Half of my class ends up in time out, they're such rotten brats. I haven't learned how to perfect the Snape glare yet."

"You mean, like this?" Marietta said, and gave a pretty good imitation of her uncle's famous glower.

"You _definitely _have been spending too much time with him," Drake said, grinning.

All of the professor's former students agreed.

"You're a fine one to talk, Drake," Mel said. "Considering he's your boss as well as your father-in-law now."

"Better stay on his good side, Lockwood," Harry teased.

"Unlike you, Potter," Drake shot back, his gray eyes sparkling. "I know better than to mouth off to him, since he can do a lot worse than give me detention now."

"When did you ever earn detention from him, Drake?" Hermione asked wonderingly.

"Never, probably. He's a Slytherin," Ron snorted.

"Wrong, Ron. He's never hesitated to give detention to his own House, especially when it was deserved," Drake defended his mentor. "Trust me on that. He gave me detention just before the war began with Lucius Malfoy and all."

"Really? What for?"

Drake coughed, then said, "Uh, for trying to drown Malfoy in his own cauldron one afternoon in Potions. He was subbing for Slughorn, and Malfoy was being his usual snarky self, making remarks about me and Arista. I got mad and next thing I knew, I was shoving the smartass head down in his Silencing Solution."

"I remember that now!" Harry said, his green eyes dancing. "It was the funniest thing I ever saw."

"Too bad Severus didn't think so," Drake sighed ruefully. "I think he practically dragged me off Malfoy by my ears. And once he got me alone in his office . . .he tore strips off me for my temper. He said, I'll never forget this, "While it might be extremely gratifying to drown Malfoy, Mr. Lockwood, you will refrain from doing violence to another student in my class ever again, am I understood? Because the first thing a good Hunter needs to learn is how to control his emotions, not let them run away with him. That being so, you will write Next time I will control my temper 300 times for me."

"Merlin! 300 times!" exclaimed Ginny.

"Yeah," Drake grimaced. "My hand was about to fall off by the time I was done, I'll tell you. And all the while I was writing, he was glowering down at me and lecturing me until I wanted to go crawl under a table. But it worked. 'Cause when I faced Malfoy that time in the hall after his bloody dad nearly killed Arista, I was able to keep from killing him and all I did was Stun him."

"And you think that was a _good _thing?" Ron cried.

"It was. Because Malfoy's not worth a murder charge," Drake replied evenly. "He wasn't a convicted Death Eater, remember? Even if he did betray Hogwarts, that's not a strong enough motive to kill him. Much as I would have loved to dig a grave for the miserable bugger and throw him in it, I let him live so justice could be done. Which it was, as all of you know."

"I still say he's better off dead," Ron grumbled. "He's gonna cause trouble again, mark me."

"Then Uncle Sev will kick his butt for him," Marietta stated. "Just like he did when he hexed my stuffed dog Sevvy."

"He can't, Marietta. His authority as Director only extends to the US, not Britain." Kit informed her. "But _I _sure will, if he dares to step across the line again."

"Me too," Harry agreed, for he too was an Auror.

"Enough about Malfoy," Arista said suddenly. "Just talking about him makes me ill, and that's not how I want to feel on my wedding day."

All of them obligingly changed the subject.

The band began to play another fast-paced rock and roll number, and they were soon absorbed in it, laughing hilariously at the Weasley brothers, who couldn't dance to save their skins, and who didn't give a damn either.

Severus turned back to Valerie Lockwood, a pretty woman in her late thirties with wavy brown hair and a vivacious smile, much like her son's.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that last question, Val, the music was so loud," he apologized for his wandering attention span.

"I know, I'm surprised I can still hear myself think," Val laughed. "The young people's taste in music isn't what it was in my day. They seem to prefer all noise and no words. Anyway, I wanted to know what you do now that you've resigned as Headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus? You live and work in America now, isn't that right?"

"I do," he answered, but before he could say anything further, his spellophone chimed. He considered ignoring it, but then figured he'd better answer it, in case it was an emergency. With his job, one never knew.

He slipped the small black disk emblazoned with the Dark Hunter crest out of his pocket and flipped it open, hitting the Send button as he did so. "Snape here."

The image gel stirred and the face of one of his employees popped up. "What's the problem now, Stanley?"

"Sir, I know you told me not to call you today, but I needed to know what you wanted me to do with the file on the Nighthawk case," the other wizard began.

Severus scowled. "Excuse me," he said to the Lockwoods. "Stanley, did I or did I not leave you explicit instructions that I wasn't to be called unless it was a national emergency?"

"Yes, sir, but we captured another one of the ringleaders and I thought you should know, so . . ."

"A national emergency, Stanley," Snape interrupted his overeager assistant. "Meaning that unless the White House is under attack, the President's been assassinated, or somebody's blown up the World Trade Center, I am currently unavailable, understood? This is my daughter's wedding day, for Godsake."

"I know, sir."

"Then why are you calling me?" he demanded exasperatedly.

Stanley hemmed and hawed for a few more minutes, before Snape said, "If you have any questions, why don't you talk to Miss Finn, she's your supervisor, right?"

"Uh, yes, sir. I'll do that. Sorry for bothering you, Director. Bye."

Snape sighed and closed the spellophone. "In my line of work, there's no such thing as a day off."

"Mine either," Dr. Lockwood said sympathetically. "Unless I'm across the ocean and temporarily missing in action."

"Sometimes I'm tempted to go missing in action," Snape said.

"What do you do, Severus?" Val queried, her eyes alight with curiosity. "It sounds like you're in law enforcement."

"I am, in a manner of speaking. I'm the Director of the Dark Hunter Intelligence Agency here, which is similar to our Auror Department." Snape explained. "Only on a much bigger scale. They requested me after the previous Director retired three years ago, because of my undercover work with the late Albus Dumbledore. I had to keep putting them off, however, because I was currently Headmaster of Hogwarts and couldn't leave in the middle of my term. Then too, Arista was still in school, and I wasn't about to pull her out in her last year."

"I wouldn't have either," said Val approvingly.

"Then I agreed to a second year as Headmaster since I couldn't find anyone I trusted to take over the school, except one man, and the Ministry wasn't about to let him take the post. Eventually, however, I managed to convince those bubble-headed fools that Remus Lupin was the best man for the job, even if he was a werewolf. He was a hero too, fought and killed that piece of trash Greyback during the second Battle of Hogwarts. Once I did that, I could resign without regrets and I did so. The DHIA contacted me again regarding the Director position, it was still open if I wanted it."

"And you took it, naturally," Val surmised.

"Who could blame him?" said Robin. "It probably pays a lot more than being Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Severus nodded. "That's true, but money wasn't my only reason for accepting the position. Most of my relatives live here in the States, and Arista was going to move over here as well once she graduated, since Drake was attending the Dark Hunter Academy in New York and she wanted to be near him. And the job itself appealed to me, I've the greatest respect for the Dark Hunters, my late wife was one, and so I accepted and here I am."

"I'll bet the Auror Department's kicking themselves for not offering you a job first," Robin said with a chuckle.

Snape shrugged. "Maybe now they are, but not back then. Back then I was still considered undesirable by their standards, due to a youthful indiscretion. They still suspected me of having ties to the Death Eaters, you see."

"You've got to be kidding!" Val exclaimed. "How dumb can they get? After all you did fighting Lucius Malfoy and protecting the school and Dumbledore appointing you his successor, they dared to question your allegiance?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" Severus said, a bitter twist to his mouth.

"Bunch of horses' arses, if you ask me," Robin said angrily.

Severus spread his hands in a so-what gesture. "That's bureaucracy for you. They believe what they want to believe, not the truth. And it suited them to paint me as a villain, evidence to the contrary. The Dark Hunters had no such prejudices, which was why I went to work for them." He did not bother telling them that his reputation in the States was that of a celebrated hero and a friend to the bronze dragons. What he had done in his past as a teenager did not matter to the Hunters, who were inclined to overlook little indiscretions in their leaders.

"Good for you, Severus!" Robin said. "Those pompous know-nothings in the Ministry always aggravate me past bearing. They tried to pass a legislation saying that we Magical Creatures vets couldn't treat the more dangerous species of animals, like griffins and dragons, not that we get many of them anyhow, but still who are they to tell me what I can and can't heal?"

Just then, the Marciano twins, Drew and Nick, some other Amarotti cousins, Trina, and Marietta raced past, laughing. Seven-year-old Marietta paused beside their table, grinning, to say hello to the Lockwoods and her uncle. "Hey, Uncle Sev, great party!"

She was wearing a pretty satin emerald green gown, one that was not the full length gown the other bridesmaids wore, but it came down to her ankles. It complemented perfectly her strawberry blond curls and her blue eyes.

"What are you up to now, little minx?" Severus asked, calling her by the nickname he'd given her long ago, at age three-and-a-half.

"Nothing," she said quickly.

Severus raised an eyebrow at her denial. "Nothing I want to know about, you mean."

"No, really, Uncle Sev, we aren't up to anything. The twins wanted Trina to show them a new dance step, that's all."

"If I know the twins, that's only half of what they wanted. I'm sure the other half of their brains are busy plotting new ways to get into trouble."

Marietta made a face at him. "You _always_ think we're up to something."

"Because nine times out of ten you _are_ up to something," Severus teased.

"Not today I'm not," she admitted shamelessly. "I promised you I wouldn't get into trouble and I always keep my promises," Marietta said, coming over to sit on his lap the way she used to do as a toddler.

"You certainly try to," her uncle agreed, then shifted her to his good knee, for his lame leg couldn't bear her weight for long. "You're nearly too big for my lap, minx," he said, tweaking her nose.

"But never for bedtime stories," she said, for she often stayed over his house, and he always told her a story at bedtime, a tradition that had begun one Fourth of July night four summers ago.

"No, you're never too old for those," Robin agreed. "How old are you now, Marietta?"

"I'm seven. I start second grade this year, and soon I'll be old enough to learn real magic. Uncle Sev says he'll teach me Potions and Defense, just as if I went to Hogwarts."

"She's been begging for me to teach her magic since I first met her," Severus laughed. "And now you can finally get your wish, Marietta, since I live in Point Pleasant now."

Marietta beamed. "Uncle Sev's the best teacher in the world."

The Lockwoods smiled at her utter sincerity. Severus coughed, embarrassed at his niece's frank admiration. "Uh, well, that's a matter of opinion, Marietta. We'll see what you say once you start lessons with me, young lady. Most of my former students will tell you I'm a drill sergeant and far too critical of them. You might end up hating me sometimes."

Marietta shook her head firmly. "No I won't. Colin says the harder the practice the better the student."

"Colin's right, but no teenager wants to listen to that piece of advice," Severus said. "I'll wager you won't either when you're older."

"Maybe, but I still think you're the best teacher, Uncle Sev, and I can't wait till I can learn magic."

Severus smiled at her, for nothing, not even one of his famous Snape glares, dampened her enthusiasm for long. "You've got a ways to go till then, Marietta. Now why don't you go and play with the other kids?"

"Okay!" she agreed and slipped off his lap to go and find them.

"You're going to have your hands full with that one when she's apprentice age, Severus," predicted Val.

"God help me," he sighed. "She'll be a strong magician though, and probably a Transfiguration Mistress to rival Minerva McGonagall one day, if she ever settles down and learns to control that impulsive streak. But I'll worry about that later. I've enough to deal with running the DHIA, never mind tutoring mischievous apprentices."

"Don't let him fool you, Robin. Sev thrives on adversity," said Colin from behind them. "That's why he's the Director." He was holding little Amy in his arms. "Say hi to your godfather, Amy."

The little girl gave him a bright grin. She had dark hair just like her mother Jenna, but her blue eyes were pure Colin, as was the devilish grin. "Hello, Uncle Sev!" She wriggled in her father's arms. "Down, please."

"Okay, but you stay right here by me and Uncle Sev, snippet," Colin ordered, setting the child on her feet.

She immediately ran up to Severus and held out her arms. "Up!" she ordered imperiously.

"How do you ask, Amy?"

"Please!"

"That's my girl," Severus praised, and he picked her up. Amy cuddled happily on his knee, eating appetizers from his plate, and listening to her godfather and her daddy discussing her favorite story, the time when they'd fought the wicked Lord Voldemort together somewhere far away in a place called Hogwarts.

It was a story she had heard many times before, but she never tired of hearing it, for it was a wonderful adventure full of interesting creatures, brave heroes, scary villains, and magic. Best of all, it was true, and the people in it were all ones she knew and loved.

Severus Snape, former Hogwarts professor and Headmaster, looked down at his wife's namesake and smiled contentedly. He had come a long way from the lonely shy boy of Spinners End, and there had been much pain and sorrow in his life, but no longer. For now he had what he'd always wanted, a home and a family, and a job that challenged his skills to the utmost. Life was good, and he lifted his glass in a toast to Arista and Drake, two of the very best wizards anywhere, and looked forward to a future without shadows and doom, at peace at last.

Until he glanced up and found a smiling Mel at his elbow. "Hi, Severus. Care to waltz with me?"

He blinked, considering the state of his leg for about five seconds, before he caught sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione staring at him in amazement. He could read them like a book, and he knew they thought he was going to refuse Mel's request.

Hiding a smirk, he gently handed Amy back to Colin and stood up. "I'd be honored, Mrs. Ambrosius, to partner you."

Then the Director took Mel's hand and stepped out onto the dance floor, ignoring the utter shock on the faces of his former students, and began gliding to the soft strains of a waltz, unhampered by his bad leg for once. And Harry and Ron discovered to their mutual astonishment that Marietta had not been exaggerating. Severus and Mel really were good dancers, as good as those Muggle movie stars whose names they'd forgotten.

"I don't believe it," Ron whispered. "You heal his leg or something, Arista?"

"No, Ron. But today he's like his old self, because nothing would let him spoil his daughter's wedding day. Not even a lame leg."

Harry smiled, watching half in envy as the Director and Mel twirled across the floor gracefully. "I shouldn't really be surprised. I mean, this is Severus Snape we're talking about, and nobody can best him when it comes to sheer will and determination."

"That's for sure," all of them agreed and for once they were all grateful for it. Those qualities had saved their lives more than once during the war and would continue to do so, thanks to the stubborn perseverance of one perfectionist professor, who inspired them to be the very best they could be.

**End Story Notes:**

**So how did you all like this? Please let me know!**

**I have a sequel for this--so you can all see what Severus is up to in his new position as Director of DHI PLUS he gets a new family member and is enlisted by none other than Harry Potter to catch a rogue wizard called the Shifter who's kidnapped his very pregnant wife Ginny. Lots of Harry and Sev interaction in this one and a bit of Arista too!**

**Sound interesting?**

**If you want the first chapter posted, review this one! The more requests I get, the faster I'll post the sequel.**

**If you want to know when the sequel is posted add me to your Author Alert subscription, that will let you when I post it.**

**And for those of you who want something different with more canon pairings--please read my new fic Irresistable Chemistry, it's a Sev/ Lily AND Petunia/James story, though it starts out with Severus and Lily first and James and Petunia later. Also, the real romance in it doesn't come in until chapter three, because they're FRIENDS and children first, but after that it will be very present, though nothing graphic. It will run through seventh year and beyond and also feature REGULUS BLACK.**


End file.
